Transformation of Speculation

The pale gray morning light filters through my window.

A monochromatic room of unsaturated colors

As dull as my hope.

I lay petrified underneath my blankets,

And yet they bring me no comfort.

Meaningless existence.

I attempt to muster up any fragment of courage left in my weary body,

Wracking my mind for anything to believe in,

But all purpose to life has fled my reckoning.

In a final attempt for sanity,

I pick up a pencil

And sort through all the erratic speculations of my mind.

Like magic,

All of the fear and belittlement

That once tried to destroy me

Transform into something far more lovely.

Poetry.