I want to write a poem or story,
But I'm stuck with lack of things to say,
I'm all tumultous inside,
Emotions pounding much more so today.
I'm cast adrift in a sea of nothingness,
No land or end to this suffering in sight,
Longing for a little imagination,
To put an end to my plight.
There's a vortex in my rationale,
Swirling mists of doubt,
It's like someone extinguished a candle,
And blew all my reasoning out.
I've come to depend on this poetry,
As a creative outpouring,
Without doing this at least once a day,
My life seems downright boring.
So I'm following Systematic Decay's advice,
Writing about my lack of thoughts,
Here's hoping it'll help me,
And put my life in order as it ought.
I hate this lack of creative juices,
It's troublesome and painful,
I'm just like the Simpson Desert,
Praying for my next downfall.
How long after you are gone will ripples remain as evidence that you were cast into the pool?
(Daughter of Mystery)