Lack of inspiration
words form
with hesitation
just beneath
the surface
longing
to spill
upon a page

Fighting
out of hiding
surely they will
come

Another thought
another try
another moment
passing by

Set them free
or let them be
I hear their silent
plea, it echos
too from me

I’ve no choice
they are my voice
It’s not my will
that keeps them
silently within
hidden from
my pen

I long
to feel them
flow
coursing through
my veins
releasing all
my pain
as they soak
into the page
as blackened
drops of rain

Long have they
been quelled
locked away
without a key
just out of reach

Slowly they will come
slowly you will see
soon the words
will soar
and again
I will be
me

Crystal R. Cook