My eyelids shot open as one of the sun's warm rays flittered across my eyes. It was extremely bright outside, but the gentle foliage above prevented much of the light from reaching the area beneath it. Slowly, I began notice my other senses. The ground under me was spongy and damp, and the air smelled fresh and cool. It was quiet, but the songs of birds and insect played softly in the background. I yawned and stretched and looked around. Falling around me, with a mass of green and gold, were the raining leaves of an old, majestic willow tree.
Never had I ever seen such a beautiful or magnificent mass of life. Immediately
My mind is blank as I stare into space,
My pen is bleeding a spot in the page.
Ideas are staring me right in the face,
But I'm stuck inside a writer's block cage.
Y'know that little light bulb above my head?
Well it seems that it's no longer bright.
Do you think Shakespear'd come back from the dead
To help me with this poem I cannot write?
With every attempt, I fail right away.
Why should I bother to try anymore?
This will take me forever and a day
Unless inspiration walks through my door.
'Course I'll have to finish, 'cause I've begun.
In fact, it seems that that's just what I've done.
you are all the colours of the rainbow my dear;
red,
little red rubies falling to the bathroom floor,
leaving little red rivers rolling down your thighs.
orange,
sunset orange reflections on deep blue waters,
what creative colours for those diamonds in your eyes.
yellow,
rays of yellow light gleaming through the smallest of breaks in the clouds,
on the most dismal days, they still make you glow.
green,
fresh, green grass rolled and bound,
from your mouth, beautiful, smoke induced words flow.
blue,
translucent blue crystals streaming down crimson cheeks,
gleaming, sorrow filled puddles just dampen your dreams.
indigo,
the man
