Desertion


How can I write where there is no rhythm?
What words will come to me tonight?
Construct a verse and thought on paper,
Line by line by rhyme by early morning light.

How shall I phrase the strident keening
Of a lost and sorrowful bewildered heart,
Lay witness and testimony grieving
The loss of music, life and art?

Mourn dearly and pine away in wanting,
My muses and princes of the mind.
Desert my creative space and window;
Now I get nothing, nothing, nothing of any kind.

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