i’m out of things to write about; feeling empty,
a sense of uselessness, like when i was twenty;
a long time ago, when i felt just like a vacuum,
of little or no consequence; all alone in a room
filled with people, talking, but none listening
to what i say, and all i hear, a distant rumbling,
as i stare into a blank wall, hoping that i could
curl up in a cocoon; and feeling that i should!
years have passed since; seasons come and gone,
late in life i found my voice; and i put it down
in rhymes and meter; metaphors and poetic verses,
that, which i feel; all my hopes; but also my purpose
in this sweeping universe, this expansive galaxy,
we call our transient home, our current reality!
i wrote about love and friendship, faith and family,
of dreams, fantasies, the afterlife and its mystery;
and emphatically i tried to express myself in words
one understands; with words soothing as songbirds;
words that heal, that chastise not but rather elevate
and edify; they glorify our Maker, never pontificate!
sadly, i run out of things to say, the vessel’s empty;
but i hope this situation is fleeting and temporary;
words will flood back in, and once more i’ll write
of sunrise and sunsets, of roses red and lilies white!
© Vic A Evora
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