Sitting at the brink of shade,
A cup full of cocoa, a slice of cake,
Feeling the sprays, as they fall upon me
Rain drops falling, like static's shake,
Watching the grey mist glide, with the howling wind,
Maybe inspiration whispers, with the howling wind
Feeling my hands go wild, maybe a poem in their mind
Or maybe just the sugars, fueling my rush from behind
I start to write, just for writing's sake,
Forcing the inspiration, that just won't come
Thinking of a poem, that just won't come
Writing of a poem, that just, won't come