Thursday, 20 August 2015

No Emotion To Touch

How can it be that the road is at an end,
my pen has finally run out of it's poetic ink.
The lines of the book filled; a tired pen,
and a brain that now struggles to think.

A heart in conflict with itself; so confused,
It's misguided and lost it's once home truth.
where is the pool of rhythms I once used,
lost deep in my mind; I've lost my muse.

Now I can't seem to find a word that cures,
Now I can't build sentences that will heal.
The passion is dying; all that was so pure,
And that which guided me is forever sealed.

Why do I now yearn for the cold touch of death,
why is there havoc in the depths of my head?
I have no more answers but so many questions,
and my pen just won't write again; not even a breath.

So many tears fall; my emotions imbued in the earth,
yet I can't write whatever it is in my heart that hurts.
I can't find the words; no where in this lonely world,
No escape to this prison of questioning my worth.

Whatever I felt was the fuel to the melodies I wrote,
but now I'm bereft of it; not even a glimmer of hope.
My pen stays in it's place gathering specks of dust,
just as my heart is without an emotion to touch.

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