The Gone Poet Poem by Kurt Schenker

It all used to come so simply
So easily I used to write so fast so fierce
Everything was so…... effortless
Everything knitting together like a well sewn blanket
Always filled with Love and warm it was oh so warm

I was so happy, but everything has its end sadly mine was closer at hand
It started to smell it wasn't horrible but it wasn't great oh so gently did this new smell come
Then I thought nothing of it still I wrought fierce and strong
But it started to dwindle the smell would grow and eventually, inevitably I started to slow

At first I thought I was tired but no that wasn't it
My pen refused to move no once again that was not it
I was running out of ideas as my pen ran out of ink
I knew no more what to do what to wright

Still I need to be happy it would come back or so I thought I was becoming old In the brain now
I ask others for ideas I still wright but not as fast or fierce as I once was
Things were no longer clockwork I didn't assign times no not anymore
I had to be given competence just to wright you don't see because still I am a genius with words

I just lost imagination, or did I ever have it is it I the one who steals others glory
Do I take delicate beautiful thoughts form others and keep it as my own?
Am I taking the little girls the little boys am I taking there dreams making it mine
For fame and glory am I really that rotten how have I only now am I to know of this horrid deed
What am what have I done can I trust myself I'm locking myself away in a dreaded cage to keep others safe.