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Prose:
When nothing flows.

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That's my cynical definition which of course isn't meant to be a sweeping statement, and is specific only to me and my already shoddy writing. Is it just my inflated ego speaking, or is the poem I posted this morning at least ten times better than this nonsense? Not that that was particularly good either, but I think it's positively genius compared to this. And funnily enough they talk about very different, nearly completely opposite things. The only reason I am posting this is so that I try to grasp what it is I am lacking. Perhaps on re-reading this nonsense, I can see how to improve my writing.

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He looked up out of desperation and mild sense of defeat to see what lay ahead of him. In a second though, any lingering doubts were cleared, and he was so caught up in the moment that he failed to realize, at least for a few minutes, that this was it. Years of toiling away, with no sight of the future, and no respite from the madness around him, all gone. Those countless hours spent in futile contemplation of his own flaws, and his projection of them onto his fellow man, also gone. That moment in time that he stood outside the grave of his parents and collapsed to the ground may well have never happened. All that was left was a sense of unbridled joy - the past was all behind him, and what lay ahead was a beautiful future, one which would repay his suffering ten-fold.

And as he inched nearer and the nearer to the end of his journey, his eyes drifted to the edges of the road, where bodies were littered, all of them dead leaves scattered around the tree of life. These were those who didn't make it. What of their lives, he wondered? He began to ponder whether he ought to carry on. He let his mind drift, and began to wonder what lives each of these faces used to have. But he came up with nothing; it was with a sense of sadness that he realized that these were just faces to him. He lamented the lives these people must have had, the stories they had to tell, and the people they made a difference to, but to him, they were all just another person who tried and failed.

He tried to forget about it, and dizzily trudged along. He tried to shut it out, but to no avail, for his mind had captured a few choice images and memories, and started flashing them relentlessly. He soon couldn't tell if what he was seeing was real, and fell to the ground. Now he was a few inches away from a lifeless face, and by peering into those eyes, he felt an intense fear. There didn't have to be words exchanged for him to realize the reality of it all. In those eyes, he saw himself lying on the ground, and the person in front of him walking by.

But he drew himself to his feet. For a second, he paused. With a passionate yell, he looked ahead and marched on through.

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Oh wow, utter drivel.