the day the words went away

 
“writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all”  
—Charles Bukowski  
 
I've hit the wall  
you know the one
where you've dug so deep inside yourself
until there's nothing left but a hole
 
I'm bringing up nothing
pure shite  
regurgitated cliches
it's all been said before
I'm empty and it hurts
 
it's the words
they fill me up
keep me going
when I want to die
 
I burn with them
with the telling  
it's passion bottled
until it explodes
no other way than out
 
I can hear the words  
feel them in my soul
dream about them  
when I close my eyes
 
I ache when they quiet
I cry for their absence
in the still hours I listen intently
for what needs to be said
and how to say it
 
without the words I am a void
they lift me up
make me more than I am alone
 
in the end I'm just a guardian
charged with seeing them on their way
a mouthpiece for the divine
 
when I'm used up
and their is nothing left to say
I will return to dust