Inking on the hundredth page
an attempt again which fails.
Yet, I'm trying so hard
to make meager gains.
Crumbling that paper and trying again.
Stashing my ideas and wasting my time.
In the empty interlude, which no longer
send signals through space.
Oh! What a waste!
Foggy and drained with no ingenuity.
Yet shamelessly scratching the surface of bright paper.
Hoping that something would catalyze the process.
Not deterred still but lost the train of thought.
Interestingly, I still some how came this far today
Without any guidance waddling in the pool of ignorance
Finding my way to get out and make myself productive.
It's not so easy to do, if caught by the chains of procrastination.
And I now observe these lines are growing bigger and bigger
when comparing the first and the last stanza.
So now, launching towards the fridge
and help myself with a peppy Fanta.
With an ever satisfying mentality will I be able to complete this?
I don't really want to but I'll put an end here.
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry Collection
PoetryMy favorite pass time. I now have many of my own. Let me show you what real poetry means as you flip through the pages. So why not take a chance??? P.S: I can't believe this is blew up in just one day, but thank you for the love! (Duh, I still don't...
