I often wonder why
The writer?s well runs dry
Is it because there are no brilliant ideas left to mold
Or have the greatest stories already been told
Have the batteries of ingenuity gone dead
Or am I just losing my head
Maybe if I wait another day
The muses will finally come out and play
But then again
They may linger until God knows when
And before I know it life will have ended.
INSIGHT OF ACCLAIM
I open the mailbox every day
Hoping to receive an acceptance letter
From one merciful editor
Who is able to jimmy
The locked door of my cryptic soul.
Sometimes, even the greatest songs of all time
Can not inspire me to express what I feel
From the Gailic fluency of Enya
Or the raspy resonance of Edwin McCain
I doggedly try piecing together a composition
Of flavorful words and synchronous sentences
But am left in a lyrical daze
Until a single glance
Through the tinted window
Reveals a radiantly striped sky
Of rose and blue
How life?s little pieces can come together
In the blink of an eye.
One inch at a time
I will strive to reach the literary summit
That has loomed in the distant horizon
For a million moons
Grasping each rung with passionate precision
Until the ultimate prize has been captured.
OUTLET OF INSIGHT
I know that the words will gradually emerge from literary hibernation
Like the first sprinkle of April rain
But for now,
All I can do is wait patiently
For each small drop of creativity
To pour out of the flask of bottomless inspiration.
SYNTHESIS OF TRANSFORMATION
The crumpled balls of paper
In the waste basket
Hold lines of muddled words
Waiting to be recycled
Into a cohesive assembly of literary merit.