The Passage of Long Hours

I pen this poem
while sitting alone
Preferring some rhyming
to pining for home

That place I shan't be
for hours more still
As wages, it seems
are required for bills

My purpose in writing this
failed by line five
And so, thoughts of home
Are beginning to thrive

My bed, ever-patient
waits to receive me
In its embrace
I would drift away sleepily

Yet I remain here
And home remains there
I'll think with this ink
so my thoughts are not snared

As writing one's thoughts
is much more endurable
Than staring at walls
with one's thoughts on a turntable

Onward small seconds sail
Bearing me home
This poem is a gale
by which my boat's blown