Where go the words
Which make up my verse,
When my mind is blank,
And my sentiment much worse?
What can I say
That’s never been said,
How can I twist a homonym
That’s never been red?
Can I gather inspiration
From the bark on a tree,
Or better from a soldier
Serving courageously?
Will alliteration bring me freedom,
From feeling faulty frail felicity,
Or will it simply compound
My poetic ambiguity?
Is writer’s block to be fought,
Actively,
Or can it be overcome with a certain,
Passivity?
The conclusions that I have gathered
Amidst the thoughts that I’ve had,
Is that despite my efforts,
I have surely gone mad.