i’m not going to sugar coat it.
to tell you that it’s just a case of writers block
would be the farthest from the truth.
the ideas of new overflow in my head;
the ability to write has seemed to have temporary disappeared
something’s missing when she isn’t here with me.
like hurdling a wall that can’s even be climbed,
the frustration mounts as the ideas get blocked by distractions.
the audience awaits for another desired rhyme,
but the stage sits empty.
just is the momentary season of without
and a life without is just that -just.
i sit with my pen and paper,
and all i do is just stare at a blank piece of imagination.
looking for that moment of breakthrough that brings another fulfilling story.
letters drawn up to form words,
but the words have nowhere to go,
and draw up the incompletion instead.
mumble jumble nonsense goes nowhere
and the thought of the stories once written mislead.
i’ve sat in this chair night after night,
trying my best to complete just a paragraph or two,
and i can’t even do that.
//
her memory makes me smile
her memory makes me desire.
her eyes, her smile
and the way her hand fits in mine.
i can still feel her under the flannel sheets
as the fire crackles through the wine glass clinks
we drank a toast to the past, and we drank a toast to the future
i can still feel her under the flannel sheets.
the laughs always came in conversation
and the tears always would fall when talk about the parting.
two hours behind and yet what seems like 10,000 miles in between.
her memory makes me smile
her memory makes me desire.
her eyes, her smile
and the way her hand fits in mine.
i can still feel her under theses flannel sheets.
//
in winter’s cold and snowy landscape,
there sat my cabin.
outside;
blanketed by the over night snow.
and did you know, inside,
it’s warm and woodsy,
the fire roars and heats the frozen thoughts i pen out .
a passionate kiss;
the moment when her lips touches mine
the way we hold each other when we sleep;
now a loving memory and a desired hope to be again.
but i’m not going to sugar coat it.
to tell you that it’s just a case of writers block
would be the farthest from the truth.
the ideas of new overflow in my head;
the ability to write has seemed to have temporary disappeared
something’s missing when she isn’t here with me.
like hurdling a wall that can’s even be climbed,
the frustration mounts as the ideas get blocked by distractions.
the audience awaits for another desired rhyme,
but the stage sits empty.
just is the momentary season of without
c 2017 bgw
