Walls

Walls

by Beau Maysey


I want to rip past this computer screen, it doesn't help, is what I mean,

It doesn’t tear across my Writer’s Block, it only serves to remind me of the clock.

It won’t push me forward, I can’t even use it to fall back on for support,

It’s a blank wall, and a mirror of my own thought process,

Moments, fading as ashes would, are here, then gone; time holds me hostage.

I want to sleep, I want to have fun, but I guess that’s a challenge for everyone,

Why do I need these words to spill on the page, it’s not as if anyone reads them anyway.

What will I inspire, with a call- to- action? I guess everyone wants self- satisfaction,

They don’t have to act, but it would just be nice, to see that this effort’s not wasting my life.

I need fresh ideas, is all that I mean, well, that and self- confidence and a girlfriend and

Friends and good grades and patience and all those wonderful aspects maturity will bring.

Really? It’s five, okay, Mr. Muse, get the heck off your couch, it’s about time you arrive.

I see Microsoft Word, what do I want from this world?

I want to transform this page into wings, I want to inspire, I think that I mean,

Why don’t the sentences leap from my hands, why can’t this be sorcery?

Distractions, interactions, talk and type, walk and work.

Return to the blank page that I had left so desperately before,

It isn’t that blank wall I knew anymore.