Poetry for poetry's sake

I have much to write and not so much time to write it in. I have all the free time in the world nowadays yet when I have that time I have no inclination to write. Empty words stare across pages yet I cannot find an order to put them in. When I want to write I have not the time. Ill be out doing something like working or getting acquainted with Jack or Morgan. I cannot write for the sake of writing like my so called friends. I dislike most of what they write anyway. Not enough comes of the steel black onto the parch. More words are flushed down the drain than see the dark of a book page. Little sparrows making better conversation than I, and I begin to, slowly now, write. And when these birds are finished talking Ill be done writing. I wonder what poetry they sing up in their trees.