The Rambling Poem by Dave James

Scurry back and forth as well you might
The mind when cornered always taking flight
Descend in shadows deep to raise the thoughts
The inspiration blindness sours all we're taught
And yet though we know the light is burning still,
We fight with ourselves and feign a sudden ill
That which cursed man unlearn-ed cant procreate
Becomes apparent to the mind that words can't hate
So we sit, we squat, we lie, we walk, we stammer still
We stare into a covenant that blocks our inspiration
The blackened sky whips up the storm and beats our will
Until our perfect storm subsides and thoughts around creation
Sit well with us again and again, without the rain,
At once the rambling can begin, again, again, again.