As i sit here wondering what to pen.
I find myself in a spot all writers must meet.
It seems as my faithful quill moves toward the paper
the ink seams to vanish, nothing seems to stick.
I could write a Haiku,
thats 7-3-7, no no no its 5-3-5, no thats not it.
forget it Haiku is for kids in grammer school.
How about a Limmeric, umm perhaps not for the only one i know
is of a man from Nantuckett who sat on a bucket.
Anyways those our for teenagers.
I know i could write a story fit for reader digest.
No that still won't do for that is for those drones in the cubicles down town.
What to write, what to write.
So now i sit here at the playground,
watching the kids play with ease.
Not one care in the wrold.
Not knowing, not caring of what life is like.
How sweet it was to run to mommy for a kiss
when we got hurt.
They go martching one by one,
up they slide and down they go.
Sliding down in such a spectacular display.
All uniform all in training.
Here they go two by two towards a flight simulatorknown as a swing.
Push, Push, Push.
They go up and up in thier cockpits.
They let go all flying like rockets in the air.
They march and trian in a little millitary fashion,
what a veiw what a scence.
As i sit here wondering what to pen.
I find myself in a spot all writers must meete.
It seems as my faithful quill moves toward the paper
the ink seams to vanish, nothing seems to stick.
So now i sit here at the mall.
Watching the preteens move on by.
They come in like groves with no care at all.
Thinking they are one of a kind.
Yet, each one is more like the last then the first.
All wanting exceptance, all wanting individuality.
Here the barbie girls, stop and stare.
At the jewlery stores rare glittery displays.
While all the jocks stare at Jewl's rear.
The outcast march into stores full of noies,
made by a 100 cats being thrown in water.
And, the geeks sulk into the video game stores.
All trying to get the latest copy of D&D,
for the new XBOX-WII-420 handheld.
All diffrent yet all the same. All wanting the same.
They can't wait to join the rat race.
To be full of responsibilites and forced to care.
All wanting this dreadful teenage years to get deleted.
As i sit here wondering what to pen.
I find myself in a spot all writers must meet.
It seems as my faithful quill moves toward the paper
the ink seams to vanish, nothing seems to stick.
Now i sit, down town.
As i watch the men and women all dressed in grey walk on by.
it seams like just a few years ago they fought for their indiviuality,
and now they have conformed into slaves.
All in grey, all with a worn down breifcase.
All saving money for the just in case.
They martch into their office to sit in a 3 walled cell.
They file the papers, and design the spreadsheets
just to do it all agian and agian the next day.
As i sit here wondering what to pen.
I find myself in a spot all writers must meet.
It seems as my faithful quill moves toward the paper
the ink seams to vanish, nothing seems to stick.
Now as i sit on this bench.
i see my coffee cup is empty, a sign my break is up.
Back to a life of solitude and trash.
For as i see all of you from your carefree days to the days of just in case.
Not many see me, for i am the one who cleaned out your trash.
I sit here wondering,
if i will ever be able to write agian.
Now whats this my page is full of marks.
Its seems to me life is nothing more than a march.
So as i sit here wondering what to pen.
I find myself in a spot all writers must meet.
It seems as my faithful quill moves toward the paper
the ink seams to flood the page, and it seems to stick.
Adding your comment:
Its always nice to people watch and you've transfered both it and the essense of finding something to write about quite nicely. I think you could do to touch up the spellnig abit in some areas though.
*chuckles*
