Sometimes it's hard to know what you're working towards.
It's difficult to figure out where you want to go.
Sometimes you just need to stop thinking for a moment,
Enjoy your life, and just go with the flow.

I fear my lack of inspiration to write
The words no longer flow
No longer hold me tight
Can't seem to rhyme anymore
An itch hard to ignore
The truth staring me in the face
A time ending in a horrible place
For soon my words will fade
And I will be full of emotions just too afraid
For failure in your creation
Causes quite a painful frustration
But I'm scared to stop these words
Because if I'm lucky they come like this in herds
I love the process of choosing
But hate in the end when a poem is losing
Critics play rough
But as a poet I move on
We're all pretty tough.

I heard a cry in the night,
A thousand miles it came,
Sharp as a flash of light,
My name, my name!

It was your voice I heard,
You waked and loved me so—
I send you back this word,
I know, I know!

Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.

Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.

And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.

If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest

Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.

Moral:

Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour,
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair,
E'en from a fading flower

Music sang the the soul.
Of a little girl,
Who's only goal,
Was to play.
Anything from,
Beethoven to Bach,
Mendelssohn,
And Debussy.

Art opened the heart,
Of a lost older girl,
Who didn't know,
What was true,
She painted,
From morning,
Till night.
Alone in her room.

She wanted to write.
The words fresh,
In a fragile mind,
Afraid to say,
Or tell,
The story,
Of pain.
And Triumph.

The notes of the music,
Started to mesh,
The paint,
On the brush,
It faded.
Words lost,
In translation,
Losing meaning.

She chose a safe path.
One without risk.
Without pain,
Or seeming,
Completely alone.
She needed,
Perfect mediocrity.