Original Thoughts

Thoughts leaving my gob feel stolen, never new.

Words not right,

Can’t inspire, won’t incite.

Filched quips,

Nothing’s hip,

Truth’s untrue,

Thoughts stale, deja vu.

The rhyme freezes at dawn, wilts at twilight’s turn.

Dreams elude nixing sleep in Nyx’s nocturn.

Blood-shot,

Burnt out. 

Repetition, reproduction,

Never original construction.

Wisdom wanes.

Thoughts crumble, never to reign.

It’s all been said; it’s all a bore.

Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”

But all thought is original, even if it came before.

It’s all okay, kick down that door.

Confidence grows by letting go.

Finding a voice means speaking slow.

But sometimes fast. Motivated, inspiration’s not an act.

If life’s a show, go off script.

If unoriginal, they would always predict.

But they’ll never keep up, so think, speak, and write on.

Ignore that Raven, sing your song.