On Uninspiring Labor

Another morning of meandering
Through emptiness and the nothing forces
Which magnetize my nonsense panderings
And magnify my lack of resources:
My mental nourishment, my life-stream's flow
That, right now, is in drought, thus preventing
My fertile thought harvests the will to grow.
For what reason hinders my inventing
Further irrigation of the parched land,
Thirsty for the tapping of the well-spring?
What repels the iron-rich soil in hand
From being ripe for future prospering?
I dig and toil at the dirt with no spade,
My hands buried in the hole I have made.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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