The clock hand strikes three
The sound echoes off the walls,
My hand continues to tremble
As I hear my Siren’s Call.
The paper blank before me,
My pen begins to fall.
My breaths become steadier,
As I reply to my Siren’s Call.
The paper continues to fill
As I scratch and proceed to maul,
I have etched into eternity
As I respond to my Siren’s Call.
My nerves become more stable
As I look upon my scrawl.
My mind can rest in the quiet
As I have acknowledged my Siren’s Call.
I sit in the piercing silence,
Nearly spent after it all.
I gladly tear down my world
As I answer my Siren’s Call.
Drew Schroeder 