Raindrops collide with the fogged glass of my window,
I stare out,
Acknowledging their desperation to enter
But dismissing them because I am too selfish
To let go of the warmth.
A cup of tea rests on the desk,
Steam rising and vanishing
Like waves at sea,
The grey clouds roll across the horizon outside,
Releasing their tears across the sky,
Crying from days of an endless pilgrimage
To a salvation only the people with their feet
On the ground can fathom.
There is an aching in my bones,
From seeing the world turn to
An empty canvas when only hours before
It burst with a breathtaking vibrancy
Of blue skies and blazing sunshine.
The storm clouds roll in,
The stars will never illuminate
When the day time falls to its knees
And the moon is alive,
The wolves will never howl
As the thunder grabs the land
And bangs it like a drum,

All that I wait for now
Is for the candles to blow out,
For the tea to cool down
And for the sun to return again.

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