The Author's Unspoken Words (MGS Writings)

In four corners of the wall, Her steps synchronize the clock on the wall. She's exhausted, her coffee is cold, Her heart is full, her wallet is empty Lol, she's broke. Her to-do list never ends, But blame is always her. Sometimes she's being recognized more often not. She's not enough, not even exact, She needed a break she's exhausted.      

The figures fill the empty, waiting page, The groups, the patterns form something of naught, But not the wise ones' wisdom or the sage, Instead of phrases, numbers here that ought, to please me; they create a reason, rhyme, in worlds of dark, chaotic, senseless words. To me, they free the mysteries of time, release among the sky uncaged new birds, who won't stand contrived beauty a moment, longer, Why this pointless glamour? Without, some logic, useless is the bright poet. The death of understanding: quiet shout, The infinite is held in math's own grasp, Yet without words, no great thoughts seem to last.