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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Lost Art Of Composition too often my thoughts and the ability to express them are taken hostage without a clue to the cause this is an affliction familiar to many a writer as if madness wasn't enough it proves to be immune to every method I've used to relieve my minds constipation it enslaves your ideas and duct tapes the mouth of your soul binds your fingers and hands so you are unable to write I Whiskeyed and Scotched it self medicated with drugs the addiction that resulted I thought could be bribed held a knife at its throat threatened, bullied and beat it poked and scratched at the eyes Kicked it in the balls pleaded and begged even got on my knees and prayed all my efforts were ineffective it only pissed it off more and tightened the grip around my Muse's neck I had exhausted my resolve to this disease that consumed me there was no other option but to surrender I decided to give up , knuckle under call it quits not answer the bell for the next round I disconnected my computer and turned off my cellphone the typewriter on my desk just for show I've had since college every once in a while I have at it so I stashed in the closet with books by Sexton, Wolfe and Burroughs Cisneros, Bukowski and Gonzo I turned down the lights and lit some candles sat at my desk to prepare my suicide note what happened when the ballpoint touched the papers surface was the key opening the front door lock to home an energy manifested that I had known long ago before Technology had deadened it's nerves it sparked the transfer of thought into a word forming the shape of a sentence this cosmic electricity flowed into my hand holding the pen then designed a paragraph the child of chapter I touched every noun felt each verb envisioned the adjectives description heard every "ly" in the adverbs reply and ignored the rules of punctuation I had discovered the remedy to restore my inspiration the cure I possessed all along The lost art of composition was my salvation my own prescription is what I wrote the poet is an artist that paints in the darkness a poems words the colors that create light a writer is blessed with all of the answers cursed in the search for what questions to ask Judge Burdon
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