I wonder where to wander,
alone I am a loner;
once your mate-rover
but now just a harmless pushover
for my path is over
by turning a cold shoulder
to me, you alter into a voiceover
of my kismet, a veiled exposure.

Maybe I have matured,
maybe I have outgrown writing stories,
maybe I have buried even the thought of creative writing
beneath the disgusting idea of education
- so utilitarian, and functional.

I grieve the loss of creativity in my head.
I used to think that it will always be around the corner,
that these skills will probably stick around.
Unfortunately, I have grown enough to realize that incrementally,
what little skills of mine shall soon leave my feeble body
before I even know it,
simply because I have forgotten to use them altogether.

I don't know where to begin from here.
I don't even know what to write next.
Sadly, I don't even know what to write for my fictional characters,
and just like me,
they are stuck in a havoc of confusion and unfinished stories.
Just like me,
they are lost in a fictitious land where there's no way forward
Just like me,
my stories stare at the vast darkness and wonder...
When?
Why?

And just like this poem...

Oh my dear, how you've wandered so far
You walk day and night to forget who you are
You walk through the trees with the moon high above you
You walk with bare feet, the hard ground below you
You've traveled so far and you've traveled so wide
Yet you only have the sky, to whom you confide
The sun lights your path and the stars lead your way
You've walked over the earth and paved your own way

You've walked so many days
And so many nights
Now it's time to spread your wings
And finally take **flight