Uninspired

Some days your muse just refuses to cooperate... So what do you do? Write about it.

Somehow, this day reached realization with no inspiration;
The forest inside my mind failed to catch fire and burn,
And I’ve yet to find flint to spark the flames of a recognition
More than crinkled paper wads of waste bin creation.

Self, spare me my over dramatized, waved aside exaggerations…
AS IF, I would or could discard even my most random lines.
Indeed, after all, when moments like these strike me,
I must revert to those fickle fragments to breath determination.

Truly, though, this head atop my neck is an empty canister…
Shake it around, twirl it upside down – hear the hollow nothing
Of soundless quality echoing the escape of when my imagination
Crept down the hall, past the front door, descending wind’s banister.

Besides, over what range of subject matter would I speak?
Endless, emerald green meadows of softly rolling Swiss hills?
Or scraggly brush speckling an Arizona reflecting harshly golden sun?
Perhaps a starlit night, moon rising bright above mountain peak?

Oh drat…forget it! Wipe the slate completely, squeaky clean;
The world will not end if my muse weaves no webs –
I’ve a night uncompleted, before today is left unreeled…
Tomorrow is not yet woven and mind’s eye may still visions glean.