Dreaming of the Great American Novel I have Always dreamed Of writing the mythical “Great American Novel” But I’d settle for Just writing anything Instead of just staring Blankly At the glare of Empty white Paper Which can burn Holes In your eyes. Like staring too Long into a scorching Sun. Who wants to Trouble the World with Angst And ambition And writers Block When there Are Wars And Poverty and Injustices That make Everything else Pale in significance. Nobody, With modernity Hanging overhead Can prove God exists Or Doesn’t. Not to mention The simple Burdens of Feeding your Family Avoiding Divorce And surviving Everything Life throws at You to Kill you. In the absence of Realizing dreams, I’ll have to settle For this Poem.