Gathering Dust

Piles of paper gathering dust
No, there’s nothing.
Empty vessels, trussed in wordless ropes
Busted, untrusted, rusting relics
Broken jugs where once clichéd terms
Might have been stored
Might have poured upon a bed of hungry seed
Now an open wound that festers
But cannot bleed
High achiever, once full of self-belief
Reality brought into relief
Against a backdrop of trailing loose ends
You hope to mend
But then, when nothing comes
The king becomes a blade, to be snapped
And not remade
Never fear, they say
Don’t get too near the flame
Yours is not to create
But take your seat
In the cinema of another's mind
Life’s never kind, always taking
Consumption based and
Inspiration-breaking
Baking into hardened stone
The self-inspired creator you once were
All thoughts of articulation
Long gone, words as piles
Of paper
Gathering
Dust