deepundergroundpoetry.com

Drought

Sometimes I find that I have lost my words --
and closed, are paths, that once were winding
and doused, are lights, that once were blinding.

They go to literary graves, I've heard--
and silence me, my voice, in binding
and dry the pen, the ink unwinding.

They're hiding in the summertime
I'm peeling layers off my skin
I'm finding nothing there to rhyme
Nothing lying deep within.

And if I hold you near me now
do you think that you might see
thoughts and letters swirling 'round,
drowning in transparency
-- of my dried up lines.
Author's Note
Written for the trials of poetry comp
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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