I need to find a new muse
And new words to overuse.
And it is necessary, required
Because my creativity has expired
(Whatever little creativity I once had).
I wrote (and still write) about the same topic
Staring at falling leaves, apogeotropic.
However, I've exhausted the resources,
Scribbling the noise the brain forces
On which to concentrate.
I try to focus on it,
But nothing sounds quite right
To break up the quiet.
Except, something keeps buzzing,
So I keep conveying,
Keep displaying,
Keep repeating,
Instead of retreating
Fron my notebook,
From my pen,
from an inevitable The End.
