Worthless, wordless heart

 

I wanted to write a poem

but I found my pen empty

or filled with invisible ink.

Felt my worthless

wordless heart sink

as I realised no words

were flowing.

I shook and shook my pen.

Scribbled to unleash the flood,

but no ink would

course over

this empty cursed notebook

 

I tried in vain to write a verse or two,

I sought through my brain,

looking for some locked up

pain I could use,

but my words were stuck

on a call somewhere.

Stuck in a looped waiting nightmare.

You are number 99 in the queue.

Your call is important.

We will speak to you

in a year or two.

I spoke quietly to the words

saying they could call back later,

but it was no use, they were

waiting the duration.

 

I tried to find a word or two,

just a little something

that could inspire,

or light within me a little fire.

It could roar out of control,

as those flames take hold,

dropping embers of poems

to fill my book with ashy charcoal.

Just some simple words

that I could save

for future use

but my brain was being a recluse.

Walled up in his own little room.

I could hear songs playing loud

but my words left me

wandering lonely as a cloud.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love & Poetry 

 

Kyle