I stave off writing my fate,
Jibberish jitters through my lobes
Cluelessness I wished to mitigate.
Every idea seems to fade away,
Causing me to be increasingly irate,
Like an avian wishing to migrate.
A time I find fit to write has come
Except my pen has scribbled too late,
The ink of my fingertips has dried.
Helplessly trapped within my crate.
Away from me on ice my thoughts skate.
Desire increasingly innate,
Mind wandering with a wide gait.
Things like molecular weight,
Mortality rate,
Maturity date,
Psychological state,
Wait,
Now above this wall I can navigate
The paper's thirst for word I hope to sate.