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Experiences Write Themselves
I turned the switch off one day
 The lever that lets my life replay
 I threw the past to the floor,
 swearing I didn't need memories anymore
 Out the door and to the woods I went
 I breathed in the the forest, every little element
 Taking out a pen and tattered journal in one motion,
 I asked the crisp air for some inspiration
 But the faucet of my mind only sputtered
 The feeling of the words barely fluttered
 Angry at the oxygen which I breathed in,
 I pleaded with the creek for a dose of inspiration
 The waters splashed scattered words at me
 But I was not blessed with the usual sea
 Aggravation mixed into my lack of creativity
 I tried one last time, with one final plea
 Climbing up an old Red Oak,
 I believed I was filled with hope
 But the branches of my thoughts cracked
 The sound was as if the limb clapped
 Face down in the dirt, I saw a light
 The only inspiration was the old, the fight
 Smiling, my dirty hands moved quickly
 One million miles behind was inspiration in me
 My pen can only bleed out for what it knows
 Otherwise, the words are useless and somewhat low
 The past can only bring a future masterpiece
 The lessons learned that now the world can see

