Sometimes I sit, and I ponder, and I claw for inspiration. Filth encrusted metaphors burst like bog bubbles. Fill my mind. Sleek and killing similes pounce through synapses. Claws in brain. All sing of fall, of decay. Of mud and grime clinging to souls, like guilt to a survivor. Sometimes I sit, and I ponder, and I claw for inspiration only to find that these aren't true, they can't be true, or at least they're only shadows compared to the giant flame, because the world is always getting better.
I find that I normally see the world, and especially people, in a continually negative light. However, when I look closer, I can always see how life is improving. While it may be a bit idealistic, this poem addresses that.