For The Grim

Sometimes we go through a dry spell, a time when inspirations is scarce and procrastination becomes our daily bread.

Prolonged periods in the dark,
A mode of lack and sobriety,
Station waggon set to park,
Unmoved by the things of the petty.

Unable to define the lines,
Blurred in the distance,
Ignoring the blaring signs,
White noise becomes a nuisance.

Polluted air fills the clouded mind,
Drills and pounding of steel and concrete,
Sparks flare as the metal grinds,
Construction of misdirected streets.

In truth, iron sharpens iron,
During the magic hours of the morn,
With effort and some bourbon,
Inspiration is surprisingly born.

Hopefully motivation will strike,
Shift gears to produce initiations,
Rid away common ideas of the alike,
The bore of pathetic imitations.

Fresh, new, remarkable ideals,
The journey of a perfectionist,
Wall breaking imagination appeals,
To accomplish the task of this wish list.

- SY
12:16H 24th March 2016
In the shadows
SY is a 'Jacqueline of all trades' who loves wearing plaids.
She doesn't believe in things that fade and fulfills the promises that she made.
She seeks the hearts of the troubled, to be a listener in times when things are doubled.
She's the kind who stands in the gap, who will only call it quits when it's a wrap.

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