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I pick my pen up from under the rubble

Cobwebs embalm it

Thoughts come in a stutter 

Where do I start? It’s supposed to be like riding a bike but I’m fighting for my balance , I never struggled before

Stayed stuck for too long, now stuck feels like home

Becoming reliant on the pain, finding solace suffocating 

Feeling my way through the darkness, in desperate need of light

Thoughts recklessly littered in spaces of mind

I try to scribble but lose my grip

Feeling like an imposter, I can’t remember how 

One minute I’m strong enough to try, then I’m back on my knees 

I yearn for that feeling once again, and the smell of fresh ink

If only I could find my first words, I’d fly free like the birds

Ugh too cheesy, my judgement rages

I’m sorry 

I’m sorry I took this for granted

I fell in too deep, so I swam to shallow waters

Chasing waves I would never catch

What I thought glittered was just stone, Stoned, see it shimmer

I yearn to dance with words again

To break free and let it out, the music in my soul

And embark on that joyous journey, satisfy my heart’s cravings

Unearthing treasured fragments along the way, a worthy cause for me

I grip my pen harder, ignoring the clutter, I flip the page, scratch pen on paper

Empty scribbles stare back, they mirror the scars on my heart

Ink finally ran dry

I sigh.

One tear elopes with another, seduced by the pull of gravity, they drop and drench the words in front of me

My tears, now ink, bring to life those empty scribbles,

‘I love you Lyn’, read God’s gentle whisper

Sigillyn

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This piece was written after a 5 year writers block. Lyn Bentil