Writers Block

So stood the young man
On the verge of never holding back,
But never still yet
Oblivious to praise,
He could only focus on the chinks in his armour
Small steps in a search that was impossible to go nowhere,
The passage of time was breaking his mind slowly.

Up in a tree the birds sang so sweetly,
While down in the dust, the rats played.

Human nature, a nature that meant something once
But now is lost to the space of history
A reflexive window on the soul of the present,
The dark night before the dawn of a new people.