Blank screen staring at me
like a dead man's eye
as if taken by surprise
at the moment of execution,
expecting pulse, heartbeat,
a flow of blood to the works
in spite of those quirks
of human nature - that put a body
on hold whenever its world
ceases to turn, civilization
burnt out among the ashes
of personal ambition;
From inspiration, no helping hand
to guide pen or brush;
Desolation, a lush
wading through risen waters
of the earth, baring pain
like a rose its petals
in acid rain, deserving better
at Nature's hand than a travesty
of imitation urged by Man's
jealousy of God
As melting ice caps start to flood
this world of ours - we can lose heart,
drown in its worst nightmares (poet
found dead at the keyboard)
or find a voice
