-Q.Montejo

Will there be enough sand in the world
For me to write one million disposable sonnets?
Will I have enough time in my life sold
To do everything I've ever wanted?

Will I find what I most sought after
On all things thinkable, on desired things unwritten?
Will I spend the rest of my life in laughter
Along with welcome pain, all in love beholden

Should I say to the world "I have done it!"
But at the back of my mind, unsaid, "Not yet!"?
Should I pause, think, go slow and steady?
Or take the chance, carpe diem, and not fret?

Could I ever be someone in the history of man?
Could I ever be the shining morning star of yore?
Could all of these ramblings be for idle and naught?
Perhaps yes, maybe no, so what will you spend your life for?