April 29, 2010
My mind is just the strangest place
A multitude of wasted space
But outside I’ve searched through every nook
So it seemed like the next best place to look
Inspiration is what I’d been hoping to find
That pivotal factor in poems that rhyme
I came here thinking that it could be found
But it seemed inspiration just wasn’t around
After scouring my brain I just don’t understand
Why its so hard to find…its like its contraband
I feel I’ve been blinded, now wishing to see
My mind is in shackles, it longs to be free
A land of ideas I can’t comprehend
I force them together but they don’t seem to blend
My thoughts, once so full, are now empty and cold
So frozen they shatter before they unfold
Thus I stand in the snow, plain white through the regions
A waste land of winters continuous seasons
I searched for my foot steps, and followed them back
To write my poem, about failing to find what I lack

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