At the End of the Day

The final score always left wanting, regretting much metaphorical bed-wetting. The cross-over to the beginning is as swift as molasses. Mental heels drag, pointlessly we ran out of points to make too soon. At the very end is the redirect start line - bang! Go, not rats racing just facing up to the concrete ceilings we plastered over only yesterday and yesterday now will always remain an 'end of the day' question mark, another part-written poem we know we will not complete by the end of this day or any other.