I do not understand
How people can sit there
And create beautiful poems
Extracted from the wonderful juices
Of their poetic minds

While I sit here
For long and silent hours
Staring into the blank sheet of paper
With a coffee turned cold
And another sad song almost over

Trying to make something wonderful
Something soulful
But maybe the only reason why it's hard
Is maybe my mind is nothing but a junkyard

//f.c.