A Sated Mind.

At times a lull creeps over liveliness And morose barreness engulfs my mind. A no-thought blanket erodes all finesse Or elegance in careful phrasing, binds This poet, and chokes every bit of stylish Verse. Then it is the weary mind takes on It's own control, rolls out reams by the mile Of wasted time in empty worded pun Or rhyme, on piles of paper due for bin This state I find I'm in with 300th down. Feeling cloyed with surfeit verses within Short space has me sated. No muse now around. To all P.H. friends - - thank you for your support and kind comments on my work. I will be taking a short break from posting, but hope to be back.