Wishing to Write Again


So many words have come from my fingertips;
my head;
my heart.
So many syllables and rhyme schemes
the mind grows inconceivably dumbfounded
at such creativity I once took for granted.

I stare at the screen, at this paper,
at the wall and I am so lost.
Those words were my breath.
Each one so significant and
somehow different than the last.

I excused myself from self-expression
and lost the passion I self-expressed.
My every burning fire of the need to write—
extinguished by time;
by work,
by life.

Even as I try to gain inspiration from love—
The most beautiful of all things;
the most reused poetic device since creation
I fail to find the words that used to
so abundantly seem to type themselves.

Maybe one day I’ll write again
with such compelling passion as I once did;

With creativity flowing from me, cascading;
with words so delicately placed…
they wouldn’t even require metaphor.


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