Tidal Wave Writers.

Rows of letters begin to grow hazy, blurring my vision ever so slightly.
Rhyme and reason are more and more difficult to comprehend.
I keep my grip on reality firm - grasping ever so tightly, desperately.
Then again,
Everyone needs a break now and then.

The screen before me now lacks my interest,
My fingers fail me once again.
Why has this curse chosen me to infect?
These words, these thoughts, so diffcult outside of my mind.

Of all the inventions this world has to offer,
Of all the things money can buy,
I wonder, if one day, something will be made for the writer?
For those who are finding it difficult to get by.
To jot our dreams down on paper,
There is our conflict.
Our unsettling feeling,
That our vocabulary cannot portray the things we've seen,
Past the day.
If something could be built,
Created or discovered.
Something that will show the world the world I have uncovered.

Oh, how they will read in awe!
Of such an imagination so extensive.
Yes, they will see these manifestations I saw!
So far from this world on which they live,
Conserved and trapped away from adventure.
Oh, if only I could somehow paint a portrait.