Poetrys chinks of light

The blackout blinds were drawn  
The white page of scrabbled thoughts    
A note book, not open and not closed    
A clause thats always starting with pause    
 Looking for a long lost doubloon    
Those accolades so hard persued    
The X upon the treasure map    
The bard that wears a floppy hat    
 A garret temprement of loneliness and misery    
When your muse is all at sea    
An app thats sometimes prone to crash    
And trauma come to un-jam with pizazz    
 Gifts of saffrons golden blush    
The spice and colour on the brush    
Paint all you work with pro's and verse    
It is a blessing and a curse
Blood spilt in words that heamorrhage  
That well won't flow as you intend
 Barren field you drilled for oil
Last short straws the one you chose
The casket where you lie
Its lid screwed not quite home