Feeling Highly DysFunctional

 
My worth as a writer was written
in the words of a wonderful soul
but they’re all lost now
erased from the pages I would flip
when I was at a loss for verse

My heart was heavy on the screen
when I saw the last line of string
on our repeating game of telephone
was severed

Gone

And how I cherished that invisible face
that beautiful mind spilling
a writer’s grace wrought with pain
and painting his thoughts into the ink
of his art that stained a sleeve
bearing his loving heart

It’s almost like a god was lost
like..

My world of metaphor and song
was shaken to it’s undying core
and a part of the child that played
in those fields of my mind
dropped her pen into the dust
when she looked up from her work
and saw that the moon was no more

But I’ll keep the words flowing..

Until i run out of ink
and blood is all I have left to give
flowing from mind to my skin
and into my pen..

even when I’m staring at the dark
beyond the lines
where I run out of rhyme
and I wish I had more time
with the man who sparked the life
back into my artist’s mind

Even then

My words won’t die