Sitting here, pen in hand.
Waiting for my next idea to land.

Pictures and moments flying around my mind.
And now their true emphasis has weakened; split, only leaving shards and fragments behind.

Then crash, an idea hits.
For a while, it simmers, it sits.

All of a sudden, my thoughts take a turn.
All new routes, I try to learn.
I endeavour to permanently mark or burn.
Everything that enters, I wish to keep; I yearn.

And yet. 
Sadly, it is almost inevitable or unavoidable that the human mind will deteriorate.
Forget.
While the other faculties may, at present remain unaffected the loss of this once automatic function is bound to frustrate.
Day-to-day life, it does now only serve to complicate.
To infuriate.

Every day a heavy sigh.
I do so deeply cry.
"Why?! Oh why?!"
So cruel of fate to deny.
It no longer seems to matter how hard I try.