What does a poet do
when she has lost her muse?
Bereft of inspiration,
that rattling, prattling on in her head is of no use,
no poetical truths.
What does a writer do
when the words simply will not come?
Her mind races and rambles on and on,
But she cannot put the thoughts together,
She cannot quiet all the unnecessary clutter.
There is no logical connection,
no more intellect from meditation,
no heart and soul to brain communication.
Just blank hesitation.
Does anyone even read anymore?
Or am I just chasing a dying art?
Scribbling words on a page
that no one will ever even see.
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