A Poem For The Creatively Dead
Could someone find my imagination,
for it's misplaced somewhere
To someplace that not one of the
Many someones of I know.
I'm trying to write this story here,
but I'm stuck on 'there lived a painter and his daughter'
Where there's no continuation
And no fair inspiration at all
Wondering why I can't delve deep enough,
My thoughts are bearing nothing but simple bullshit
Shouldering the visions I perceive
but searching for the meanings behind it.
Ah gosh, I am tired.
Two days isn't enough, definitely not
To tell a story worth telling, worth sharing in
A third of an hour.
How am I going to write this then?
Perhaps just let the pen seek its place,
And cover all peeks that my eyes try to get.
Post a Comment