Another prompt invokes an undesired surge
of thought and fractured scenes,
requiring energy to sort and draw conclusions,
prior to recording in the journal for today.

Time to him resembles auctioning a gem,
the longer it lasts, the higher its price,
and he's approaching life's end zone called "red,"
where actuaries hold their breath and count.

The formalist stands firm on well-packed ground,
an old foundation made by friends he never met,
encouraging the weak to raise the flag
and charge ahead with valor to the goal.

It matters not that no one knows or even cares,
about responses he designs. All that matters
is the value of his time--remaining time,
that shrinks with subtle steady beat.

But his eclectic poetry is filtered wisdom,
sifted by tight strands of cynic's views,
supporting neo-phrases with a twist,
that modern judges rule as harsh and out of place.