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I don't have writer's block,
I just don't write.

If there was ever a block,
It's my blockhead.

So, why am I writing this?
I don't know.
Maybe there is a hole in my block.

Does this mean I can write again?
Maybe something that feels right?
I don't know.

Is there even anything that I know?
I don't know.
Maybe it's that I have writer's block.
Initially, it was an innocent feeling
A longing to escape treacherous lives.
In one season the seed was sown,
And in another hope was reaped.

Before long, the path to new lands was paved.

Differing thoughts bound by creed,
Met at the river of blood
Parting between Ebony and Ivory.
It was grief that sheltered them.

At home, it was prosperity that was desired.
Love was for Lady Success, yet unrequited.
But amongst the best, the love brought setbacks,
And amongst the worst, it carried envy.

Thus the path to wealth blocked with thorns and thistles.

The seeds sown among the thorns,
Are the peerless seeds.
But disillusions of wealth and pleasure choke them,
*Reaping nothing but unfruitful labour.
I hate people and love them at the same time.
I despise this world but can't seem to come to terms with accepting my hatred for it.

The beauty blinds me, the wonders piques my interest and all the more dragging me down a path  I could never have conjured in my mind.
I don't see a point in anything, yet every little thing holds the most significant factor to make the most mesmerising point.
It's all utterly confusing! With questions bouncing me back and forth until perhaps, I reach old age.

The question of life is simply a question to carry me forth.
A question with no answer, yet with every imaginable result and answers.
If spewing crap means the temporary answer to life, then I guess I'll stick to my ****.
Surrounded yet completely alone,
It's the rule that our mothers taught us, always stay together.

Together, entanglement binds it together,
Predators take at ease to engulf, consume.

Those that swim, flow solo.

So I remain huddled, I merge and now I'm surrounded,
All the same, completely isolated.

I stay for hope, protection and direction, is this a false impression?

Split, torn in silence I suffer, So I turn back to reflect,
"I had, I have control, right?"

I segregate and eliminate the feeling of metamorphosis,
From prayer to predator.

Now I've shifted gears, further up the food chain once more,
Again, I'm surrounded yet completely alone.

Though, this time I've grown!


*Poem by Lionelle Nsarhaza
Indescribable, So I've been told,
Emotions so beyond scientific reasoning.

Unspeakable, a wonder in itself,
Yet, everyone speaks and knows of it.

Prescribable, everyone recommends,
Outcomes so prove otherwise.

Inexpressible, words are never enough,
Yet, everyone so repeats the same word.

Love,
What are you to become?
With me in mind!
A world chock-full of desolate,
To pride of supposed joy I scurry.

A world plenteous of seclusion,
To hubris of felicity I secrete.

A world so stuffed of vain,
To narcissism of  hope I scamper.
He.
Abandoned he is becoming,
Forgotten for most,
Yet, never a thought away, from adversity.

Forced between bona fide and mythical,
What is he to become, what are we to become?

Answers, replies and responses,
What are of those?

To seek a must,
Only to abandon a discovery.

False or untrue,
Notion of him dwells deep within.
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