Time stops as I stare at the floor.
Tick 1. Tick 2, 3 and 4

I sit here calmly, looking at my paper fondly.
Pencil in hand, only one goal to land.
I’m at peace, everything else seems to cease.
But no ideas flow, I just don’t know.
It’s always been by my side, always along for the ride.
The pencil I carry, keeps me merry.
A golden tribute to everything I have done in the past.

It has been near, always with me lacking fear
Through the good and bad, making me feel better when I’m mad
It serves as an outlet, summing up my regrets
As I write down words, things come to mind and my hand begins to blur
Weekly almost every day, I write whatever I want to say
I rely on it constantly; meaning, whenever I call it answers my plea
As I write, things don’t seem to matter as much and time goes on.

Tick 5. Tick 6, 7 and 8.
Time goes on and never abates.