Every waking hour, the clock ticks slowly
Having the whole world around me reading it like a book
Sitting reading the world as it is
Wondering what article will make the final hit.
Waiting, watching.
Then the big picture comes
Will this be the one?
Having my fingers glide against the keyboard
One word at a time
As I write this poem on how journalists think
One true question will always form in my mind.
Is this the one that will take me places?
Or the one that tells me to keep trying?
