AT A LOST FOR WORDS,
A POET'S NIGHTMARE,
UNPREPARED FOR HIS PEN AND PAD,
JUST AN EMPTY CANVAS WITHOUT ANY SCRIPT;
NO LETTERS DISPERSED FROM THE BIC,
DRIPPING ON BARE PAGES TRANSFORMING
INTO CLEAVER PHRASES;
REACHING FOR TERMS INSIDE THE FAR CREVASSES
OF FORGOTTEN MEMORIES,
TIMES WHEN WORDS FLOWED LIKE THE YELLOW RIVER,
BUT TODAY,
NOT ONE SINGLE SLIVER OF A RIGHTEOUS LINE TO DELIVER,
ONLY DRIED UP WELLS;
DIGGING DEEPER IN THE DEPTHS WITHSTANDING THE PRESSURE;
JUST BEFORE HIS EARDRUMS ARE ABOUT TO COMBUST...
IT APPEARS LIKE A BECKON ON THE OCEAN BECKONING
HIS APPROACH,
AS HE GRASP THE LETTERS,
HE QUICKLY BEGINS TO COMBINE THEM TOGETHER
INTO INCREDIBLE PROSE,
SCRIBING SO QUICKLY WITH WORDS
THAT DECIPHERS ALL HIDDEN MYSTERY'S
AND SOLVING MANY UNPROVEN THEORIES;
AS HE RESURFACES FROM WITHIN THE DARKEST
DEPTHS OF HIS SOUL;
WAKING FROM THE NIGHT'S MARE,
HE HAS EMERGED WITH A NEW SENSE OF URGENCY
AND A RENAISSANCE OF KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM...