The dying plants on my front porch mark winters oncoming march
the passing of another year
Tinkering in my cold basement
I fail at building time machines
There are spare parts everywhere
And bits of my broken heart mixed with the frayed wires and greased gears
Hours tick by as I try to rewind days
The principle players in this play have moved on to other roles and I'm stuck in my best part
Unable to learn new lines
I stay frozen in time while the world moves on
What a headache
What a dull dream
To know I am not the doctor
Or the dashing hero
Just the tragic poet
In his basement
Trying desperately to rewind
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