F
Fat_Satchel
I suffer Narcoleptic Rage
I dont usually write poetry, but the muse came upon me this morn and I ended up with this...not bad, not great...its done...not changin it hehe
Later!
Writer's block
I sit and stare into the air.
I know there are words out there, in the air.
I see them swirling about my periphery.
So I reach out to them but they disappear.
And I’m left with just and echo of the words I hear.
Steadily fading and not at all clear.
I try to grasp the task of writing down random thoughts
But I’m too busy organizing them.
By size and color and personal costs.
To assure myself they won’t get lost.
The ones that come taste bitter and stale.
They leave me short, that feeling Ive failed.
Even this, my angry reprise is lacking a feel.
“Give me honesty!” it patiently cries.
“There is none.” I say.
Later!
Writer's block
I sit and stare into the air.
I know there are words out there, in the air.
I see them swirling about my periphery.
So I reach out to them but they disappear.
And I’m left with just and echo of the words I hear.
Steadily fading and not at all clear.
I try to grasp the task of writing down random thoughts
But I’m too busy organizing them.
By size and color and personal costs.
To assure myself they won’t get lost.
The ones that come taste bitter and stale.
They leave me short, that feeling Ive failed.
Even this, my angry reprise is lacking a feel.
“Give me honesty!” it patiently cries.
“There is none.” I say.
