Jul 19
It's quiet.
So quiet.
There once was a symphony,
Deep inside my head,
But now, there's nothing.
I forgot how to write,
My words - my everything,
Are just gone without trace.
My hands shake,
Yearning for a quill,
Dreaming to relive the passion,
But my mind fights back,
Consumed by the silence.
Fallen from grace,
What a pitiful poet I've become.
What am I without my words?
Simply an unwritten melody,
Fading out from memory.
Poetry once ran through my veins,
Now it haunts my soul,
An unplayed requiem buried like emotions.
My artistry, has been turned, to tragedy,
Like Icarus,
I've flown,
And I've fallen.
It's quiet.
So,
Quiet.
So quiet.
There once was a symphony,
Deep inside my head,
But now, there's nothing.
I forgot how to write,
My words - my everything,
Are just gone without trace.
My hands shake,
Yearning for a quill,
Dreaming to relive the passion,
But my mind fights back,
Consumed by the silence.
Fallen from grace,
What a pitiful poet I've become.
What am I without my words?
Simply an unwritten melody,
Fading out from memory.
Poetry once ran through my veins,
Now it haunts my soul,
An unplayed requiem buried like emotions.
My artistry, has been turned, to tragedy,
Like Icarus,
I've flown,
And I've fallen.
It's quiet.
So,
Quiet.
- C.c
I've suffered through years long periods of writer's block. I used to be able to write poetry feverishly, but now I find it quite difficult. I'm slowly working my way back up to writing like I used to. This is a poem I wrote awhile back about writer's block.
I've suffered through years long periods of writer's block. I used to be able to write poetry feverishly, but now I find it quite difficult. I'm slowly working my way back up to writing like I used to. This is a poem I wrote awhile back about writer's block.
