It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane

Words unspoken
Her heart is broken
Stubborn to quit  
Her love for him was far too great
She couldn't admit

You're the Healer of my aching Soul.
For you cleanse and purified me daily.
For in you, I shall always take refuge.
Within you, I shall have true Life here.
Outside of you, I shall wither and die.
For you are my Refuge and strength.
So I shall always abide in you alone.
For all of my strength , lives within you.
For I am nothing, without you O God.

Where went the days, when words were there?
When we'd talk all day, and I was allowed to care?
Now I can barley think, of words to type.
The one I want to say, I just don't have the right.