I've been struggling for over a year
To sit and pick up a pen
For life to inspire me, or love
It was mostly a dead end
Always started and left midway
Whom was I to pretend
The writer's block had taken a toll
On all the roads and bends
Buying new inks and journals
Never made amends
And then the day past
I witnessed an incident

I stopped and captured it inside
Nothing could've been said
It was dull and dark, really stark
But mostly it was red
I was waiting for life to inspire me.
Or love.
But the reverse
Came to my head
Shortly, really, freely but truly
I was inspired by
The dead.
A.S.