No inspiration

What am I to do?

A writer without a drive

A pen without any ink left

That isn't right!

Blocked 

Locked

Stuck

But I refuse to rhyme that last line with a curse word

I'm in a cursed world 

And I'm suppose to be the blessing

But my lack of inspiration has got me stressing

I'll admit it - I'm weak 

But thanks be to God that in my weakness...

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You're a starship powered on Xanadu nectar;
I'm a pogo stick on coal.
You're a majestic arc of the milky way;
I'm a quark in an unsold cheese roll.
Your eyes launch songbirds and sonnets;
Come fly with me on my crackling comet.

Your hair evokes the erotic scents of perfumed night bazaars;
I exude burning tyres on torched, smashed deisel cars.
Beside you a pulsar is like a sorry matchstick ...

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It is too much t’ take in at once,
With too many things going on,
Nothing is really that certain,
It’s like I’m running in circles,
And often I feel like I’m lost.

I ask myself, ‘Could I belong?’
Maybe I really don’t want to,
Or maybe I do, but, I’m sure,
                                  It is too much.

O', could it be by fate or luck
To be where I have ended up?
I ask, ‘Is it real...

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Another attempt at my paternal tongue.

Un altro tentativo di mia lingua paterna.

And though I beam with pride as I'm learning.

E anche se mi fascio con orgoglio, come sto imparando.

I'm aware that translated, the metre is wrong.

Sono consapevole del fatto che tradotto, lo strumento è sbagliato.

But this language pulsates to my yearning.

Ma questo linguaggio puls...

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