I search my mind
For words to flow
Raw my emotions
So a poem can grow
A wealth of memories
Well up and grind
Yet a story to tell
I cannot find
Tired fragments
From days of past
Phrases dance
But none do last
How will I write
Create compelling prose
When from this journey
Nothing worthy grows
Is it over and done
My time of creation
Or a temporary drought
For future elation
I'll hold my pen
Keep my paper
And hope this block
Soon will taper
(4/3/14 6: 09pm)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem