Of late, on relapse, dry run
My instinct of creativity
Has left me wanting
Sparks that fly of my finger tips
Making music as I transfer thoughts
Into pictures of words in magic
In meaning with key pad
Lay silence "cease" like mid day
Monday in a church house, lets pray
This feels strange and eerily empty
Comparable to the feeling one gets
When faced with the thunder heat
Realisation that someone
Just robbed ones house empty
Emotional empty tanks, my mind lay blank
Fizzle acting as clogged matter, blocking creativity
Like the six o'clock news
That never came, satellite down
Power shortage on a summers day
Nasty rain on bbq set, ill fated
Ice cream melting rapidly, on hell fire
But natural is natural as, acts that follows
A sneeze should get me unclogged again
All I need is the pollen grace
