Scarry Night

New ideas,

that is all I need.

Every day,

I find myself,

typing the same words,

the same letters,

my fingers pressing the same keys. 

I want to write about something new,

I was taking a walk, admiring the rays of shimmering sunlight through the trees. The sky was clear, a truly magnificent blue. I wondered if I would ever get a day like this again. After all, we can't know what will happen later on.

If I have any time on my hands,

I'll write.

Why?

Well, I'm not sure if words themself could even explain that.

But I suppose I'll try.

I am a writer,

I am a poet,

I am an author,

because

When the world falls,

our minds think,

it's all over.

When our world stands up straighter,

our thoughts believe,

that we're truly okay. 

Suppose the world falls,

and we all grow sorrowful,

The other day,

I lay outside,

my body still,

my mind wandering.

I stare at an open book,

my eyes skimming the words,

though my brain doesn't process them. 

Too many thoughts,

I stare up at the sky,

and wonder,

what does it feel like to be a cloud?

How would you feel,

when your friends cried,

and the world got covered in tears?

Would you want the sun to shine,