How Can It Be

How can it be
That I enjoy
Tall dark glass
Filled with foam topped goodness
When only a few years ago
I would have spat it out
When it touched my lips
How can it be
That I drink this drink
In the search of inspiration
Which always absconds
When I desire it most
How can it be
That my thoughts and dreams
Are not enough fuel
For writing stories
And assistance is demanded
For words to splatter the page
How can it be
That all is atrocious
When I go back to read
What I have scribed
In days bygone
How can it be

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