Poetic-Verses
'' What A Find ''
Looking for signs,
Searching for lines,
Within the confines,
Of my mind.
What will be read,
Is in my head,
It's just playing dead,
Undefined.
I am it's host,
Yet it's a ghost,
When I need it most,
I'm declined.
What I see,
Cannot be set free,
I ask why me,
Much maligned.
To aid my creation,
I seek inspiration,
Even more aggravation,
Unkind.
I'm fully aware,
The words are there,
Yet my soul is bare,
It's a grind.
At my lowest ebb,
No more a celeb,
Caught in a web,
So confined.
Watching the clock,
I hear tick tock,
Gone is the block,
' What A Find '
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`` What A Find ``
`` What A Find ``
