Poem of inspiration
What shall I write when my inspiration is lost?
Shall I create a poem no matter the cost?
In times when thoughts run dry…
…will it even matter if I try?
Will the writing itself create a feeling of urge
To bring my imagination to its verge?
The imagination is still there
I can still feel it everywhere
It whispers all around me
Bringing to life the things I see
A deserted landscape of stones
Reminds me of bare scraped bones
Like a graveyard the boulders stand…
…pointing out the apparent lifelessness of the land.
Not a soul wanders over its surface…
…in fear of being trapped in its deadly maze
And become one with the earth.
A silent lake with its deep green water
Becomes the home for gigantic beast to slaughter
They haunt at
…bringing death with their violence.
So what shall I write when my inspiration is lost?
Is a poem to be created no matter the cost?
Is it true that when thoughts run dry…
That it is useless to even try.
Or did the writing itself bring my imagination to the verge?
Did it bring to forth my desire and urge?
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