Of all the words of tongue and pen;
With all the sweetest things made by men;
Given all that I ever did, yet here I am,
Staring, trying hard, mentally blocked again.
I was once a good one, yes!
Even my friends thought so, I guess.
Whenever I go back and all my pieces I see,
I always ask myself, “Were these really from me?”
As I sit here alone, staring blankly,
Watching the people while sipping my coffee,
Trying to get inspiration even from a rotting tree,
I beg my mind with all my heart to speak for me.
Are my brain cells that rusty?
Or did I just lose my creativity?
What inspiration do I need?
Did my motivation simply dimmed?
If only I chased my real ambition before,
Maybe this wouldn’t be difficult anymore.
I couldn’t help now but daydream
Of what great writer I could’ve been.
But nope, I will not let this make me cry.
I can still pursue my dream, at least I’ll try.
So far, the sixth verse is doing well, you see.
Doesn’t matter if you won’t humor me.
It is still one of my God-given skills,
Though not yet something that can pay the bills.
Through this I can be the witness
Of His love, grace, and goodness.
Writing will be a passion forever.
It is what holds my sanity together.
So I’ll propose a toast using my coffee,
“To the great writer that someday I’ll be”.
Some lines are borrowed. Forgot where, though. Credits to the owner, anyway.