Rowers Prayer

If they find my will too weak,
I give the river my soul to keep.
Should the boat toss and sway,
May we always find our way
Correct the lengthy paths we take,
And guide us from unhappy wake

Should the ergs sear our hand
Hope the time is short on land
When yearning for water may we will find
Our bodies strong as well as minds
When my time has come to die
Do not look into the sky
For to the river my soul is given
Pain we’ve bared has been forgiven

A Mind Shredded

Shards of Imagination and Fantasy
Litter the floors.
Patches of Reality and Skill plaster decaying walls.
A consciousness untied.

Finally tired of the mess
Gathering scraps
Change may begin

With a needle of Reason
And a thread of Hope
Fragments are wholed
Slivers are pieced.

Jumbled, but together.
Dreams and Certainty woven
Chaotically
Spilling into each other.

Can you see the difference anymore?

Why?

Why is it that I like to think of myself as being creative but can't even think of something to put in a post? Sure, I've got loads and loads of snippets of ideas written down, but nothing that could be really turned into a full out blog post... I hate days like these, where I can't think of anything witty to say, it makes it seem vaguely like I'm not contributing society, or that I'm somehow missing out on a creative idea that is waiting to be discovered. Bleh, this is a sorry excuse for a blog post, but it's all I've got today.