Epiphany's gone

Epiphany’s gone

In fourteen lines of ten syllables each;

An idea, via nothing I’d read;

An original thought, a poet’s speech,

Occurred to me, lying awake in bed.

I rushed downstairs and turned on the laptop

And on the keyboard, my fingers did tap;

I got partway through, and then had to stop;

Seeing what I’d typed was pretentious crap.

Irritated, I deleted it all,

And stared at the now blank screen for a while;

The thought I’d had was beyond my recall;

I wanted to write it in sonnet style,

And this is the result I’ve pondered on;

No meaning here, my epiphany’s gone.

 .