my pen quivers above my paper
my fingers tremble & i fear
the ******* scream caught in my throat
will soon escape and tell all.
the page rots in front of me, ink blots
instead of words and rhymes, that's all
i can manage, my heart is cracked &
i feel the tidal blue deep within
used to that i could write day in and day out,
my heart mapped out on college rule, notebooks full
but now it's an empty vessel, with dust and smoke
instead of firelight passion.
the day i met you, the day i kissed you,
you scorched my soul and burned the very words from
my lips, my dry aching desert heart, i'm floating away,
my pen quivers, my fingers tremble, my eyes water,
since the day you stole my pottery heart,
i haven't written a poem, not a single line,
not a single word.
What do you do when it seems as though your passion has been torn from you? Anytime I open my pad, my heart cries out and my throat swells. I want to wail and scream. Where did my inner poet go? (It's been 4 years)