Inside, the surfaces are greyscale,
effigies so plain they cannot distract.
The only glow comes from the tools on my desk,
the ink, the paper, my own hands.
Time is still while I work,
boring deeper into the creative swirl,
until finally the filament goes
and the clock’s ticking rushes in
with all the colour,
vanishing my focused, serene world
while replacing it with the buzz of everyday life
and the knowledge that hours have passed
in my absence.
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