Empty As A Reed Flute

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You ask me why I no longer write..

How do I write

when I have lost my ability to feel

lost my ability to bleed

to cry

How can I write
when the fountain has run dry

and the inkwell sits secluded.
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How can I write
when all I can do is sit and stare
at a mirror of

all that I am incapable of
in love,

laying an offering at the altar of forgiveness
trying so hard to clean up this mess
of my life.


Of what do I write
when the slate is wiped clean
and the words no longer form.

Of whom do I write
when they all appear like mirages,
smoky images with ghost-like visages.

 ∴

Empty as a reed flute I remain
patiently awaiting the breath of fire.

There is a distant song of longing —
I ache to listen through the mire.

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Will You Stay?

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He held me in his arms..

.. and asked me if I would stay
while he worked on his troubled soul,
while he searched for the answers,
and his afflicted heart console.

His hand to the heavens,
he whirled in divine acceptance;
And while his form toiled for the worldly
he sought for grace and repentance.

He spends his nights in seeking
the clarity to his confusion.
And while I long to spend my days with him.
he longs for his seclusion.

Meanwhile, my heart is constantly aching
a physical pain that grips like vises;
but the idea of not being with him
it leaves my heart in slices.

He held me in a warm embrace..
.. and asked me, Will you stay?
From the tear running down his face
I knew I had to find a way.

His touch was firm and pleading
it lingered in an aching yearning,
I smiled tho my heart was bleeding
and nodded, as my eyes were burning.

His eyes were soft, gentle and kind,
I saw my reflection within an abysmal sea.
And I silently prayed
that among all he will find,
that he will still
See me.

In stillness I sought to find bliss
as I flow slowly through this longing,
Being present in all of  ‘this’
Finding solace and belonging.

stay

“If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.”
~ Oscar Wilde