Wondering, pondering on the words
I choose to write this night.
My thoughts spinning out of control,
I can’t get them just right.
It seems as though my muse
Has been spirited away, lost forever.
For all time, stolen from my memories,
Writing a useless endeavor.
What can I write about, what can I do
To escape this madness, this insanity?
I as a poet, or should I say; a wanna be bard,
Is this my ego speaking, or just vanity?
I enjoy writing, I hate composing
my thoughts and putting them to paper.
I feel there is a poem lurking within my soul,
yet I do not enthusiasm for that labor.
As my muse has been stolen,
or my laziness has taken control of pen,
I set down with no distractions,
not even a glass of water, where do I begin?
Reward for the return of my muse,
if returned, will I be ready to begin anew?
Will a rush of brilliancy suddenly ensue?
Be honest old fool, your grey matter you will not use.
© Copyright 8/1/2014