Finding it

What to write
what to write;
my mind is a blank
while my thoughts are in flight.

I listen to a beauty
that pulls along my tears
without the possibility
of reciting what I hear.

It continues to laugh at me
while I try and make it pretty
yet I continue to take a bath
in the wrath of filthy mush.

Applause may be heard
from those who enjoy my attempts,
yet my comfort is absurd
since it never returns the gift.

Ambition continues to push forward
until my mind is left in a disposal,
but this ambition is never a coward
because there’s always a new proposal.

Eager fingers linger above the keys
while my soul is praying on its knees
for any type of creativity
to fill my persistence with glee.

Yet this passion is usually hiding
and laughing at this little game,
for it is always hard siting
what I’ll eventually turn into shame.

Practice is what is needed
in order to be greeted
with a feeling of completion
over these tattered little creations.


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