I feel like I've had more to say
As a six year old back in the day
You gave me blank pages
Untold stories I mastered
Full of feeling and captivating ones mind
Compare to that I'm rather a waking disaster
A child's every word has power
Each thought makes for ground breaking material
But now I'm not sure why
I pull back
Haven't seen any ink fly for some time
Will this be my imagination's burial?