The magic is over
Everything once creative is still around
But like the 4 leaf clover
it's rarely ever looked down

People cry and moan about losing creativity
The problem is, we don't look for them
Amazing work is a wonderful activity
but it comes around like a rare gem

All we see is darkness and sorrow
the love, the horror, the happiness, and an object
Instead we wait and rant by tomorrow
and now this occur, it's now a wrecked

Poems is something that could be taken many ways
But there's only one path that there can be
the life of a poet, is just to make another phrase
"The lovers, the dreamers, and me"

John/Crazyjc