I am caught in the undertow

Of ideas that refuse to die.

They keep driving and pulling,

All I do is let out a sigh.

I have fought the battle  till dusk.

The enemy tasted my sword.

When will the blood of an idea

Enter my hallowed lonely ward.

There in the bed beside me lies

The remains of battered thoughts, dead.

Bravely they faced the enemy,

Now they just comfort me instead.

I shall rise in the morrows light,

And surpress the fear that remains.

I need but my quill filled with ink

To leave posterity its stains.