How about some poetry?

Wanting Out of Sadness.

To the pain of no meaning, no purpose,

but the fatuous that we each must invent...

To the comings and goings of pains of living,

to the uselessness and futility of all endeavours

in their ultimate transience,

there is no answer,

but simply and purely true acceptance.

This is how it is.

May the sun return,
to thaw my ice.
May it bring again

the flow, light and life,
the savour of my joy of being.

May I
feel the cool energy   of  breathing in
and warm relaxing  of  releasing out.
Feel from far flung unknown distance
Wishes of a warm arm,

soft around me, around you,
with offers of a cup of tea and chat.

@Hartfire, thank you. Poetry touches my heart like music.

@SantaLucia, thank you. William Blake is an amazing poet and artist.He influenced so many other poets, writers, and even movies. What a great talent he was! This poem is from a caged bird's viewpoint and yet you see a person captured by love.

Years ago I could write a verse or two

But as I get older I only see the purposeless of anything to write about.

The more I think...the less meaning life has.

Maybe I should stop thinking.

I have already stopped loving.

Or caring.

Crimson flames tied through my ears, rollin' high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads, usin' ideas as my maps
We'll meet on edges, soon, " said I, proud 'neath heated brow ah
But I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth "Rip down all hate, " I screamed
Lies that life is black and white spoke from my skull I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers foundation deep, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand at the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I'd become my enemy in the instant that I preach
My pathway led by confusion boats mutiny from stern to bow
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinkin', I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms quite clear, no doubt, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

sorry but im no good at poetry

I love this.

I like the oddness of being older in youth, with its determined energy of knowing

and younger in age with its faltering of not knowing.

I can imagine it set to a blues or Cat Stevens rhythm

or picking along with a guitar

in a voice like Leonard Cohen's.

That's the only thing worse than boring bad art.

@Bromide, lol!

@Pearl, that's ok.

Thank you! :-))

@CallmeIsmael, indeed! Thanks!

@CallmeIshmael2, Thanks! Very good!

@element, you are in perfect time to create poetry. Especially dramatic poetry, like Shakespeare.

funny you should mention Leonard Cohen.  I just posted him.

Thanks Bob Dylan. 

That's poetry right there, E, I'd say.

"The pain of no meaning"
I read this when you posted it.
I still think about it.

Mud sucks mind.

Go fearward.

On mud this mind is built.

Thought formations float the surface,

likely at any wrong step to sink stuck.

A field of ideas like tall reeds dense packed,

seed-heads reaching skyward,

tethered to stems in the mire.

Black, wet, stagnant, oozing muck,

sticky squelching, putrid belching, dragging down.

Panic to escape.

Seek a foot sized island,

a dry stacked mesh of trampled reeds,

the most rotten footing better than none at all.

Something to make one step forward possible.