My head is in my hands
Because they're tired of writing
Expressing and finding
Opening doors that only lead
To more hallways; winding
My pen; a megaphone on mute
My head is in my hands
Because it is tired of thinking
Analysis, subtle interrogation
That leaves my thoughts
As a blinking cursor
On an empty screen
My head is in my hands
Because my eyes are tired of seeing
False images and hope
The spark is faint,
But a lightning bug
As summer approaches
My head is in my hands
Because they're tired of striking
Flint and stones, trying
To breathe life into a fire
That appears to be built
On brittle sticks submerged in what?