The Barren Page Mocks Me
The words elude me,
shadowy, serene,
glowing to twilight.
the dim sounds of
the pen scratch the page,
while no words come.

The words cramp themselves
enough to distort...
playfully they bound away
at the touch of my hand,
the sounds of my voice.

Less than amused
I remove my pen from the page.
Its hopeless to write something that runs away.

My words like me hide in a shadowy
tomb of doubt,
Fearful of the morning,
Fearful of rejection.
Fear and turmoil swell in me even when
the words are appreciated -

The words were perfect, even in my
imperfections.
They used to be my solace,
but their flight depresses me and I
feign happiness.

A book of poetry sits open beside me,
and I swear closed of its own accord -
I have never felt so alone without my words.
-end-
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