Have I lost words or have they lost me?
A bone dry basin is all that remains,
of a stream that gurgled happily.
And a desperate plea from a heart that complains,
of a lack of poetry.
Do words flow? Or do they fly?
Do they tumble slowly out of your mind,
on the sly?
I seem to have forgotten the feel of language
and the shrouded mist of thoughts.
In the labyrinth of ideas,
all that remain are shots..
In the dark..
An attempt in vain, at giving structure to chaos..
And form, to a musty haze of years past,
that cloud the horizon of today;
Clouds that should be long gone..
Storms that should have moved on.
They say, we should make good art,
come what may..
But what if there’s nothing to say?
Or worse, what if there is no way to say it?
What if it were better, not to say it?
What if it were impossible, but you’ve just got to say it?
O thunder of thoughts, make a deafening boom
I’d rather be deaf than hear silence.
O rain of thoughts, come drench me.
Wash away this uninspired existence.
I haven’t written a poem for quite a while and I decided to do one that didn’t have the usual rhyme pattern that I follow. I hope you liked it. If you didn’t, here’s a nice picture of a painting to appease you. Why? Because I care.