Slamming my head against
a wall
an obstacle
a burden
that will not
give.
My fingers fumble
for the inspiration
the fire
the depth
but it slips away
as all beautiful things do.
Ideas perch
timid
in my hands
pecking at what I have to offer
but they fly
away
when I blink.
How can something begin with such passion
and then
fade to the barest ember?
My muse must be on vacation
in a faraway place
like Sri Lanka
or maybe
Amsterdam.
(that's a bit closer
I think, but not close
enough)
Patience is not patient enough to
help me
encouragement is not encouraging enough to
inspire me
music is not musical enough to
teach me.
So I sit in my soft
(fake)
leather chair
with a seasoned keyboard
that has seen too many failed stories
and too few completed ones.
I stare at this vacant computer screen
blank as the face of a dead person.
Hey
I may not be sure
but I heard this cloudy weather will clear up
tomorrow.