I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation,
And I don't know why
Life is driving on and it somewhat forgot me at the bus stop.

I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation.
Everything around me lacks inspiration,
Everything around me is now monotonous,
And I don't know why.

I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation.
It's ironic that when I started learning from school,
"How to be creative and how to make it better"
I lost my creativity.
And I don't know why.


I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation.
I no longer know how to express myself,
My creativity drives everything that I am;
I lost it.
And I don't know why.

I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation.
To me this world held so much inspiration.
Now,
The world holds the paint brushes;
Creative thinkers are the paint,
And this world lacks color.
And I don't know why.

Jonesy 2018 ©

Gone too soon...*
Sometimes memories ain't enough...

The sun shone today,
As it always does.
I woke up today,
But I wonder if that is enough.

A life is given birth to.
inner voice
Yes I know
While another one dies.
inner voice
Its just how it goes
Life is perfectly imperfect
inner voice
That's just how it roll
No matter what we do.

inner voice
So what can we do
It's an inner strength,
That push us to greater measures.
We will go the length,
To seek out our most precious treasures.
inner voice
But what do we do once that strength is gone?
We shut down
We become annoyed
inner voice
But it needn't be this way
If we fight harder we can take that crown
That crown that is metaphorical to everything that brings us joy.

I know you feel like you lost a fight,
Like everything is gone and no longer bright
Like you should give up and just take flight,
So when you feel low all day and night,
Use this poem as a guiding light.



Jonesy 2018 ©

He sat there as still as a statue,
His spring rusty from being forgotten by his loved ones;
Oh, he knew this day would come when he was no longer  of value,
For his old age has dimmed his light and he no longer shone.


His box was sealed away,
The rust on his spring will always stay,
For the children has outgrown him and never stop to play;
So, Jack was left alone in the attic for the rest of his days.

Now that we need him for our children's children,
To show them how fun he was to us as a child;
We did not know his value then,
His heart rusted away, now he can never be beguiled (again).



Jonesy 2017 ©