To write or not to write
That is the question
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind
To suffer the slings and arrows
Of mediocre derivative creativity
Or throw the computer out the window
And therein put an end to drivel
To end, to weep
To weep to sleep
To sleep so deep
That thoughts so cheap
Cannot get in
But therein lies the rub
For in that Windows sleep
What thoughts may come
May be the thoughts
That were sought
Not thoughts that were bought
For the price of acceptance
But thoughts as crystal clear as daylight
Inspired by the heart
Informed by the spirit
Unrefined and, to the moment, unborn
Not the walking dead