Inspiration has forgotten me;
no more images,
no more worlds.

Desolation where creation
once was plentiful,
bright and strong.

Aspirations have become mundane;
forsaken glory
to die with my gods.

My imagination is crushed--
overwhelmed by silence,
left unispired by song.

My muse is left broken and bleeding.

So now I close my eyes
and try for one last time
to see these images
to reach these worlds.

Are my gods still here?
Is there glory left for the taking?

Will I regain the fire to create?

I will shape
my will
sing into being
my creation--
my perfection.

02/02/2006

Author's Note: Okay, so it has been a very long time since I posted here. I have had a severe case of writer's block and this poem that was written about three months ago in some way foreshadowed the dry spell that was to come. I had one last go at poetry before the well ran dry. Here's to hoping the power returns in force some time soon.

Posted on 05/21/2006
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