A candle flickers softly, as it dances silent in the breeze,
my quill slowly dries, leaving not my soul at ease.
My words smolder, a dying flame, now linger elsewhere to hang,
a reader's disappointment, now this writer's infinite pang.
Emptiness takes hold my thoughts, as time stands all but still,
my heart has slowly fallen, my mind grows dark and ill
I stare at blank ivory pages, words no longer edify, but elude me,
I can't help but to wonder, “How this could possibly be “
Rabble thoughts, are sure to follow, as night falls victim to dread,
ink, once flowing and picturesque, now flows of crimson red,
I wrote to you my heart, my soul placed upon each page,
through times ticking strokes, life’s pursuance slipped through every age.
The words themselves scream out, muted, a stanch, agonizing scream,
I, the writer lost and separated, a pendant without chain,
Suddenly find myself,
“Existing in a bazaar unorthodox parallel”
a poet without a dream.
The joyful exuberance which inspires my soul, and demands myself to write,
eludes my ever thoughts, once more, with the falling of night.
The nightly struggles I endure come with a heavy toll,
my life, upon page,
no longer am I freed, to witness, nor bear my soul.
~~ Steve ~~
Written for: Potpourri of Poetry Challenge
Hosted by: Whispermoon / Adele Kaye
Edify, Stanch, Bazaar, Smolder, Infinite,
Rabble, Picturesque, Pursuance, Pendant, Exuberance
© 2013 Poison_9901
(All rights reserved)