I was gone;
	I'm back.
	Are the words
	I left
	Are the thoughts?
	It's harder now
	To find
	Inspiration's sun,
	Wisdom's dew.
	I long
	For the facile pen,
	The liquid joy
	Of poems
	Dancing like raindrops
	Upon the tongue.
	Inner sight
	Is cloudy now,
	Scummed over
	With disuse and despair.
	Coming clean
	Isn't easy.
	Hope lost
	Is hard to find.
	God will help.
	I shall ask Him,
	And once more
	The ink,
	The words
	Will flow.
	I love my poems.


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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