Night’s distress quiet unrest confused about what writing’s best,
Days are lonely filled with cleaning polishing up words still not breeding.
Yet to know what it’s about, yet to find a worthy clout,
Lost on much uncertain of how,
Dull on why and what’s gone down.
See no pathway yet to publish, know so little and undiscovered.
Many hope all just the same, many players in this game.
Many roads which have been taken, too many wrong turns makes a statement.
Sick of being so of offensive, but it’s my nature to offend some.
Get it all out on that paper, get those words done or you’re breaking.
Let me see what future holds, paint the pathway bright with gold.
Turning left, turning right, still not seeing much to find.
No connections, no handshakes, no other knowledge past what words make.
Singing little smiling not, trying to get but not much got.
Show me something tell me please, bring me to a fulfilled sleep.
Not one reader, not one review, will someone read my writing too?
Overwhelming much distraught, confused about this reader’s block.
Find me friends who want to read, bring me some with this disease.
Manuscript printed edits made, still my mind is all who raves.
What’s the reason for not quitting, what’s the call for all my bidding.
Message sent, end transmission, just gotta push forth what I’ve written.
– Thomas M. Watt