coats of dust & pollen settle
on an unoccupied desk;
clumps of rust sprout
on faded typewriter keys.

marmalade pages with
elaborate strokes & scribbles
shrivel like mango slices
suffocating in tropical heat.

a dozen lolling envelopes
with awe inciting addresses
from San Francisco to Shanghai
each wither like aging flowers.

the room once gleaming in
luminescence now hoards darkness.
brandeis blue curtains drape
the windows, stifling sunlight.

sober emotions linger
in the thick, musty air;
overripe creativity decays
into the unwashed floorboards.
rhyme, rhythm, & reason
of the mind cease to bloom;
curiosity & inspiration fall dormant
in a chilling, thoughtless winter.

the mind of a former poet
is an unkept garden;
an Eden of ideas abandoned
in favor of myopic trivialities.

though unattended, the
garden is never barren;
cultivate your imagination &
you will always harvest beauty.

**it’s never too late to pick up your pen;
water your mind & your garden will grow!