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Always a good place to go.
When black clouds ink the sky so deep
a granite hue it weighs life down,
presses a smile into a frown,
so making clouds begin to weep,
a shaft of light , the sky turns bright,
there shattering, its colours seep
and paint the air a rainbow gown,
when black clouds ink the sky so deep.
Than out of the deep recesses of my mind pops:
My well of inspiration’s dry
I dip my thoughts into the space
where words should dance with fluid grace
and find a desert’s windy sigh
no poetry to refresh me
the pictures desiccate and die.
my pen is still, it can not race
my well of inspiration’s dry.