As i sit down to think of a subject for poetry None arise just like when in need, I scrutinize every possible one Till its pulp oozes out infront of me.
Why can i not find it? Do i blame my thoughts that are so obscure Or the dubious heart that rejects everything Or this mind that demands to know more than i possibly could.
I fear this might sound platitudinous; Like every novice trying to be like those from whose hands words just flow But these are my thoughts certainly. Sewed together in esoteric verses Wait, I think a title has occurred to me!
"Puzzling" it shall be. And my thoughts rewards me with satisfaction Until the next time i try thinking of one That moment, puzzling it shall be.