Wasted Potential

There is anguish in not becoming,
Seconds pitter-patter on my forehead
Make a dented shell of my mind,
Every vista undresses its secrets and
Reveals the clock-chimes I can steal before night strikes,
Eager to have its meanings swallowed,
But I will be statue admist clay,
My hands will not kiss shapes into opportunity
And make of it legacy,
I threw promises on morning clouds
Before the Sun knew the dead in my face,
Is it any wonder that their dismay
Is so violent in its receipt?
I will be statue and watch rain
Carve pits in my plaster,
I am regret in making,
Gather around and
watch me do
nothing.

Image Source: Saeed Tavakkol