i sit to write
but words won't come
mind not focusing
thoughts not processing
hope failing

words barely flow, the rivers of my mind are dry
my heart has too many emotions all vying to die
on a page in my notebook, or as code on your screens
but the drought is severe so they stay put in my dreams

i've had it with the writer's block
forced complexes to shut up

just keep on writing
to find my tizzights

Maybe there's a point in everyone's life
When the words just stop feeling good enough
When our literary rivers stop flowing
And writing poems, stories, anything, is tough.

Perhaps we must wait for the ice to melt
When the writer's glaciers will start to thaw
At different, unique times for all of us
And we'll find words again, heartfelt and raw.

You confuse karate with love.
You punch, kick, and block.
You master the form,
Practice and practice.
You remember the creed.
Karate is not love.
You don’t kickstart the heart,
You can’t block love out,
Or punch it into submission.

I confuse love with poetry.
I read, write, and dream.
I master the edict of the pen,
Recite and recite.
I remember the sonnets.
Poetry is not love.
You don’t stanza the heart,
You can’t make a metaphor out of love,
Or personify it into breathing.

When will we learn?
When will you stop kicking Cupid?
When will I stop serenading him?
When will we stop this silly interpretation of love?

I don’t know,
But I’ll stop if you stop too.

I've lost my good pen.
Try as I might, to write well
My words still fail me.

Yearning

When soul fire

Longs to be free

Heart and Bone

Ache

But the words don't come

And beauty is stilled

A dry garden

Dust in the wind

A living thing

empty

With the promise

Of rain

Tomorrow

I left all of my words behind.

Stress chiseled a weakness within me.
As my vessel failed, my mind did too.

Though..

I’m not quite finished.
Not quite drained.
Not yet.
No.