Silent Is My Muse

~~

I take up my pen
to write a poem;
like a barren waste
nothing blooms
on the dried up river bed
that is my mind today.

Inspiration hangs limp, wilted
almost lifeless,
I think of you
but I have said
all I want to say about you;
saying it
brings back your image
too clear, too fresh;
leaving me tired,ragged
with desire, sour with regret.

Well would you look at that,
a poem, tip toeing out
so stealthily…