Prose.

Here I sit, flipping away

News feed reads, day by day

Endless inspiration, I dare view

Igniting a flame, feeling anew

Pen and paper will not cut

My lack of words, alas a rut

But then, I see a familiar face

A fellow author, who quickens my pace

Now erupting, with lava flow

No! Why pen?! It just won't go

My thoughts come pouring out of me

Thank goodness for my memory

Rapidly typing on my device

Watching my spelling, I'll check it twice

This is it now... I suppose

My poetic review of beloved prose

Ah complete... or so I'd hoped

My thoughts escaped me, but I coped

Drifting asleep, late in my bed...

"This sounded better in my head"