Lately I feel like a failed poet;
The words just won’t come,
Wouldn’t you know it?
I’ve blown it…
I’ve tried dreams, and almost drugs,
Countless beer chugs;
But still I just shrug…
I’ve got the determination,
Enormous dedication;
Yet no inspiration
Is there—
Not anywhere.
We all need a Muse,
Our brainstorms to use,
For our work.
But where’s our spark?
My muse is my mind,
Did I leave it behind
Stuck on some distant memory…
An idea to find?
I’d like to rewind…
Examine the past
To find what I missed…
Countless sunsets,
One forgotten kiss.
My pen itches to write,
About friendships or love
Ideas unheard of,
Blue skies above;
But my ink has dried up
And I’m getting choked up
As papers keep flying,
My failures from trying
To preach certain truths…
(Far better than lying.)
I’ve got the motivation
No illumination,
However…
Lights my mind.
The tides of change
Have cleansed all my dreams,
Erased all my schemes,
And it seems…
So very,
Very
Lonely now.
I thought I was mending…
But my heart I was rending,
Useless forever,
This darkness ascending.
Once a simple addiction;
I need more than just fiction,
This language-blessed art…
Gone from my heart,
As I feel gentle urges
To slowly restart,
From the beginning,
To write about saviors,
Or evil ones sinning;
Not winning.
Twisting down that spiral now,
With time I know
I’ll be way back up there,
Sometime,
Somehow.
And though, it seems,
Our lives we waste,
We can’t allow our gifts
To die.
Perhaps too late now,
For me to fly,
Still you prod me on…
To try.
Birth sign: Libra
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