There’s a ticking clock on the wall up there,
my mind engaged elsewhere.
Time measured atop the screen seeks to mock…
I see it not.
My tea grows cold
in this room alone
where solitude is filled with imagined happenings.
The creative drive,
bordering on obsession.
The need to extract the imagined
and make it a real life lesson….
I’m never alone when I’m alone and the night is still
and I bending reality to my will.
©November 2016, Christina Anne Hawthorne