Lately I've been sitting watching time stop
my eye on the clock & musing
on how to write,
the world won’t let me sleep
let me say goodnight to the man in the moon.
I'm just revolving in my armchair
450 years I've been sat here;
with an arch enemy
the lamp light exposing a Poets despair.
Drifting in and out of concepts my grey matter did not provoke.
My fingernails...thread bare
from answering my own questions

"I wonder if Shakespeare heard me when I asked him to echo sweet poetry in my ear to seduce me?"

If he did speak a word it fell silent against my grape vine.
Now I find myself helpless to so many arts,
my thoughts are worlds apart
fortune I am offered frays beneath worn converse
and I drown in a sea of literature...
empathy is never a season I look forward too
& trying to write of loving tendencies
...understanding
every - concept and argument I've ever fought
tell me...
how can I structure my writing, when the life I lead
is in desperate need of balance.

Tell me Shakespeare,
"am I just starting to understand the process of my poetry?"

Lately I’ve been sitting watching time stop
page after page of pen to paper
brings about enough desire set the world a flame.