Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?

I sit in silence
I'm not sure what's loudest
The silence

Or the voices
That are screaming
It's a terrible sense of dread

I lay in this bed heavy eyed
And like dust I want to rise
Erase the memories

Ashes blacken this heart
Erase the memories
I am tired of falling apart

I walked away from the sun
And walked into the gallows
Head held low
This world revolving around me goes by so slow..

Now I sit in silence of this night
Waiting for the end of this dream
Sorrow lives through this heart
I pray one day that it will depart
And like dust I want to rise

over wrought and overwhelmed
by this virus and pandemic