I love the little orange ball near the bell,
signals some one likes my work well,
I eagerly lie in wait for it to appear,
and count it one by one till I wear;
this is healthy as it motivates to write,
but not long ago clueless kids did bite,
a so called blue whale challenge,
the addiction that ends in suicidal plunge;
these verses rhyme but mime prose,
no metaphor, symbol or imagery dose,
yet addicted I scribble and babble,
like playing a solitaire scrabble;
but I do capture my weary wandering soul,
that cheer a traveler like me to try his goal.
I am nothing but a thief
but what I covet isn’t in a safe
that I can break in without a beef
I don’t want the sapphire or diamonds you have
but rather the likes and follows under your roof.
I wrote for me
I wrote for her
wrote and wrote to be
without a care;
till the day came to pass
where my writing had to pause
without a comment or like
the pen went on a strike;
my motive is impure
that is for sure
I seek from her, a platitude
but she never gives any latitude;
I am not human but a tail wagging dog
seeking a pat or a bone through the fog.
Slowly I count
with bated breath
like little kids do
in a game
One, two, three.
l don’t count
as moments pass.
I pause for days
at times much more.
The count does grow
gradually in its own pace.
I am in the thirties, my age.
In the fifties, my count.
When will I see the millions
I see elsewhere.
What do I count
not shining stars
not money in my account
nor the pages I’ve written.
I count my follows
and why do I do that
don’t I have chores.
I do it in hope of finally creating a stage
for my final grand master piece
Before I even began to blog,
my inbox had a clog
of fan following,
not to see, but to be seen;
it isn’t lessening, to be so keen,
a pursuit whose vein, I too share;
yet a name stood out clean,
isolated girl, who are you?
I gave your words a simple try,
a puzzle too much for me to weigh,
life is pain, you say and cry,
it didn’t give me, even a sigh;
you shall be alone, for too long,
a worthy soul may come, or not;
for mates are found, each passing day,
can true soul mates, ever be found?
a worthy quest, only for those true,
may be a few, souls like you;
yet isolated girl, give life a try,
each moment, so precious to cry.