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Is There… By Ashley Allen Is there ever such a cure for the horrible death of an artist?A poet who cannot rhyme,An author who cannot write,A painter who could not paint,A musician with no beat,or a Philosopher who could not think. Why is there such torment to those who wish to bring beauty to this world? The curse of writers block scorns me, and taunts my ever thinking mind into believing that something is there when I persue I am lost in its darkness listening to its maniacal laughter at my nieve ways of trust.Is there a person out there for me to trust with my secrets and love? A friend in which I can truly call “friend”a boy to hold me, nay a man to protect me to shield me forever? Am  I bound to this lonely life of meerly writing my truest desires and sharing them with the world of blindness, for who has the intelect or the intelligence to see my work as a plea for attention, a plea for love, an expression in false hope to find another like myself. Another lonely soul that is hungry for the same. If there be why does he only come in my dreams? He haunts me while in sleep I am happy, and as day breaks and reality becomes life yet again I return to my pesimistic ways. Yet with time I notice that with reality and pesimism he too slips from my mind, my dreams are slowly depleating, no longer exsistant in detail. The slightest hint of a dream brings upon the utmost happiness that is soon lost to the cruel unforgiving light of day. What is to become of poor me am I to waist away in self pity and loneliness?Destined to be a Navy seal yes but is that all i want?All I have to look forward to? We shall see but time is of the essence I am impatient.Is there a cure? Zoom

Is There…

By Ashley Allen

Is there ever such a cure for the horrible death of an artist?
A poet who cannot rhyme,
An author who cannot write,
A painter who could not paint,
A musician with no beat,
or a Philosopher who could not think.

Why is there such torment to those who wish to bring beauty to this world?
The curse of writers block scorns me, and taunts my ever thinking mind into believing that something is there when I persue I am lost in its darkness listening to its maniacal laughter at my nieve ways of trust.
Is there a person out there for me to trust with my secrets and love? A friend in which I can truly call “friend”
a boy to hold me, nay a man to protect me to shield me forever? Am  I bound to this lonely life of meerly writing my truest desires and sharing them with the world of blindness, for who has the intelect or the intelligence to see my work as a plea for attention, a plea for love, an expression in false hope to find another like myself. Another lonely soul that is hungry for the same.

If there be why does he only come in my dreams? He haunts me while in sleep I am happy, and as day breaks and reality becomes life yet again I return to my pesimistic ways. Yet with time I notice that with reality and pesimism he too slips from my mind, my dreams are slowly depleating, no longer exsistant in detail. The slightest hint of a dream brings upon the utmost happiness that is soon lost to the cruel unforgiving light of day.

What is to become of poor me am I to waist away in self pity and loneliness?
Destined to be a Navy seal yes but is that all i want?
All I have to look forward to?
We shall see but time is of the essence
I am impatient.
Is there a cure?


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