Uninspired

The entire world has ceased to be beautiful.
My dried-up, distracted muses don’t inspire,
Last year’s gold-dust smothers this year’s desire,
And none of my lines seems poetically suitable.

I remember achievement, before my sorrow.
My hard-earned royalties are slipping away,
Remembering to breathe’s an achievement today,
Perhaps I’ll stand up, tomorrow.

I see the world in colours, but not poetry.
There’s something on the tip of my tongue
But the crippling violet days keep it in my lungs,
And the words are an unsolved mystery.

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