When the Passion Leaves
When the passion leaves
there is no solace.
Words of comfort fall flat.
The muses no longer hold their chords.
The sky is fraught with greyish things
though others claim the sun is out
or torrential rain.
For you it is a dry spell.
No sadness.
No joy.
Only stillness remains.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.