No poetry here
Just the crackle of burning ashes.
Muse sits at my elbow,
Awaiting direction -
The pages
empty
For more than a moon.
My love is gone,
flown away,
And I am left
With nary a blessing
of childish laughter.
Jesus is silent,
Willing my prayers.

And I am left
alone
wondering
if it's the Prozac making me numb
on this
Silent Night.

10/13/2003

Posted on 10/13/2003
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