Bohemian Symphonies

A cloud obscures the music of my mind
Oh how the tantalizing tales tease the tip of my tongue
Yet linger do they! As water drops resisting gravity's entwine
And thus I fill the pitcher of emotion, my frustration most farflung

I can't seem to express these sentiments
These ruminations I hold most dear
The pen dances yet promises no commitment
its scripture discarded time again, evermore grow I austere

Even now I balk, ideas running brilliantly manic as I search for
The love, deceit, the moral diatribe I wish to impart
Perhaps one day inspiration will strike to redress
The verbal plunders and abandoned masterpieces that have broken my heart

Until then, the band will play, clashing harmonies in my head
The sound beating, urging to break free
But perhaps these bohemian symphonies are never to be read
Perhaps their beauty is one that only I will ever see

Most tragic most lonely, that no other will entertain my thoughts
No one to rebuke to adore to scorn or to ignore
For I am the wordless poet, whose pen in vain captures feelings wrought
Oh nevermore shall I for readers' attention implore!

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Having bouts of zero inspiration so this expresses my frustration with not being able to express my thoughts in words.