Rambling on and on again

Been quite a long time since I've written something here. Seems like I'm always busy or something, but am I really THAT busy? Looking at the amount of work on my hands that are yet to be completed, it seems like there isn't much to do. I mean I can come up with chucks of words in matters of minutes, and there's just a few chunks that I need to completed. But somehow I just couldn't get them done... Maybe it's because of my concentration? Somehow my concentration span is decreasing in quite an alarming rate. Yea, I'll be found doing something else instead of concentrating on the work that I have on my hands. Or maybe I'm sick of writing? Nah, can't be. Or else I won't be writing anything here, will I? :D Oh well, I think I should stop for now and go back to my work... I can write for ages here...

I'm freestyling

So the prof said that poetry is all about hard work when I said that it's about inspiration. Right, but then, I can't really agree with that. I mean, imagine some dude sit in front of the desk the whole day and tries to write a few lines. After hours of endless struggle, will he be able to cough something out? That just won't happen, will it? Look, if you were to write something, without topic and without aim, what can come out of your pen? Come on, get real. Creativity isn't something that can be achieved by sitting there and think. You need a direction; a path of some sort.

Alright, so to prove that creative writing isn't all about hard work, what I am going to do is to actually write something, just like that. I'm not a poetic person, never was and never will (do I hear someone protesting?) but for the sake of it, heres a few stanzas. I'll say that this isn't tetrameter because I'm not really following any 'foot' or anything, so yep, stanzas of free verses that doesn't look much like free verses =).

Free-styling

I am free-styling, here and here,
just come along and sit right there.
Don't be too stringent or too stiff,
and you won't ever have to sniff.

Now, let me begin with a phrase,
this world is nothing but a race.
Come tag along and join the craze,
or get lost in your little maze.

Pulling the strings and one by one,
they snapped and are thus left undone.
Your puppeteer, your faith and sun,
left you in a world that is none.

Of course it is not all that bad,
and most of the times we are glad,
of the times and tides we all had,
until the time we all turn mad.

Seriously, for what I wrote here,
is never something one should fear.
I have no idea of this mess,
nor what I'm writing, I confess.

Maybe I should stop here instead,
and end it before I misled.
Look at the time now, how it sped,
and the things that are left unsaid.