Poetry

Click, click,
Says the pen in my hand,
Day is bland
As it runs away from every woman and man.

Say to myself,
'Words need to be more effective and strong,
It's all wrong.'
Day's free as springtime, but this is taking too long.

Step, step.
I'm no longer a tree rooted to the ground.
I'm pacing around
Thinking of what to write a poem about.

What about nature?
I could amplify the rustling green leaves
In the strong breeze
And the woodpecker knocking at the jagged brown trees.

Maybe love?
I could talk about my darling wife,
The sunlight
That gives me direction in life.

Oh death...
I could put myself in rain as happiness drowns,
The tender tears drip down,
With a quiet goodbye to my princess without the crown.

Could also do summer,
Make the reader sweat under large heat mass,
Yellow bees buzzing past
As I relax on the green freshly cut grass.

Oh also winter...
See the brown leaves jump for their lives,
Dead under blanket of white,
As the freezing breeze strangles any warmth alive.

What about a newborn?
Hear life's only satisfying cry,
Mother's relieving sigh
As both parents are in wonder high as the sky.

Maybe music...
Let the soft harmonic tunes comfort my ears,
Filtered of stress and fear
As the tired drowsy eyes appear.

Woah...
My mind has just had a transformation.
After long duration,
The pipeline has burst with imagination.

Good,
After hours in my room and after T.V. shows were missed,
It's like bliss,
Being prepared in writing a poem...

Like this.