If only I were capable of managing time.

A poem written out of a conversation between the Christmas Cookie and I.

"Why must sleep and work be so mutually exclusive,
For me?"
"Well, if only you could manage time,
They wouldn't be!"
"If I were to manage time, ha!
I could rid the world of cancer.
Then I would be rich and famous,
Live a life fulfilled and joyous.
Know all the right men and women,
Even my beloved, Hugh Jackman!
And with Hiddelston, the Tom,
Get the Cookie on!
Oh what a life would be mine,
If only I were able to manage time!"

~Sam

Looking out the library window.

Crows wheel around the sky,
dull, wet clouds inch by-
the tired trite toll of time.

The spokes of the fans rotate,
the race of tapping fingers escalates-
it is already nearly too late.

Figures hunch over every bench,
tired, like soldiers in a trench-
with knowledge, each trying itself to drench.

Voices are hushed,
footsteps rushed-
silence lurks in the carpets lush.

For there is work to be done,
and all else shall be shunned-
until it is time again for joy's return.

But it is not time yet for joy's return.



~Sam
It sucks, doesn't it?

What we did before our exams.

So Sam and I used to text most ALL the time, irrespective of whether we had the same exam day after or not.
We ended up writing poems/songs a couple of times.
For your amusement, may I present...

January 22nd, 2012, 10:17 p.m.
Me:
It's the night before my commerce exam,
and I sit there staring,
 at a page that I've been staring at for the past hour or so.
The clock keeps ticking, and I keep dreaming,
my concentration is dropping low.


And I am certain that there's something behind the curtain,
no there isn't, I'm just trying to pass my tiiiiime.
Please please please, I don't want to study anymore,
my head belongs on my pillow,
Please make it go away.


I'm writing this song the day before my test,
My oh my I'm such a shameless wreck,
because even with an exam tomorrow I don't feel guilty...


but please please please make it go away!
The torture seems to be here to stay,
but please make it go away. 

January 24th, 2012, 11:20 p.m.
Sam: 
My eyes are glazed over, the words don't make any sense.
To my life, my grades tomorrow don't make any difference.
My concentration's dropping lower, my body's less tense,
so why oh why am i not asleep yet like my oblivious parents?


Me:
I probably should be worried, that I'm not getting tensed.
I'm in a hopeless situation, an unshocking revelation.
It happens all the time.
And even though I'm wasting my time in this songs making,
I know I'll do just fine, I think.


Sam:
Tired appear to be, my drooping eyes call out to sleep.
But I shut the book and lo, I'm suddenly lively as a brook!
To this feeling of despair, nothing else can compare,
nothing except, perhaps finding splits in my hair.


Me:
I'm just rambling now,even my words have gone.
So why oh why cant the textbook be gone too?


Oh this torture I cannot bear.
In a moments time, my hair I will tear.


See I get this feeling in the back of my brain,
telling me to study, but the front part is saying,
that I should text my buddy.


Sam:
And so I let my eyes glaze over, and let my speed become even slower.
I let the clock tick by as the time passes me by.
To the world  flick my finger and to my friend the singer,
I text, 
A Song.






From Sam: And this is why I don't write poetry.