The poem that never was

think,think think
think,think think

"the train moved like a lightning crack ..."

I push my backspace back back back

think,think think
think,think think

"her hair was like a waterfall of grey..."

I brushed that little thought away

think,think think
think,think think

"a turbo engine and silver sage ..."

I sighed and quickly turn the page

Over thinking, loads of tripe -
I close the page. I'm done tonight.


Sometime no matter how hard I try to make an idea work, I come up against a brick wall, am I the only one?