The ivory page with the floral detailing stares back at me
waiting to be caressed the soft tip of a feather or pen
my array of colored ink and lead lay motionless on the mahogany desk
There is plenty going through this head of mine
but I am unable to write tonight
A simple sentence, stanza, song or story
the task of jotting down words, and forming sentences is too much for me
The letters do not flow, they have become scrambled up like alphabet soup
the sentences make no sense and are falling apart like my favorite pearl necklace
my voice is broken
The paper void of words, emotion and passion, is soaking up tears instead and the red ink has bleed into my fingers
Maybe some things are better left unsaid!