Yes, I'm suffering from it now |
A dozen sleepless nights, a hundred drifting thoughts; A long and perilous fight, an obstacle that wasn't sought. A moment without time, a forecast without season; A song without rhyme, an action without reason. It comes and goes, often without a sound; It dims and glows, by which you are bound. It has rules, and it has prizes; Then it makes fools, of all shapes and sizes. Sometimes in the background, sometimes the front; Your mind it will tie down, your creativity it will shunt. So many patterns to find, so many riddles; Toward its peak you grind, but get stuck in the middle. Simple is its scheme, its presentation flagrant; But repetition becomes its theme, apathy its agent. And despite your determination, you feel your confusion grow; It proves too strong a trepidation, flaunting what you used to know. It unravels with haste. It hides its form. It abandons its meter; And your certainty's torn. How did you get this far? Where was this place? Such a miniscule trail to follow; At such an agonizing pace. Like a blind man you stumble; Searching for a scrap. Even your thoughts you fumble; Trying to escape the trap. Once hope begins to dwindle, and desperation sets in; A light comes to spindle, and all over it begins. |