Poemed Out

All Poemed Out

Desperate to create,
I scanned the wasteland of my mind.
This barren wilderness bore no life.
No longer did the shoots of fancy blossom there.

A chilling darkness had doused my creative light.
Nothing came from nothing
And so was forced to bear but empty thought.
Like old Hubbard, my creative store laid bare.

Ages past had witnessed the thoughtful glow,
As reminiscences took their place in the hallowed genre.
The endless power of my mind took shape
And my emotions took to written form.

I felt imprisoned by my mortal coil.
It bound my existence and being seemed futile
I had lost the key that unlocks a world we cannot see, but endless
imagine.
Nor its limits ever reach.

The timeless freedom once possessed by me was fettered by the chains of
a monotonous, meaningless humdrum world.
As cold as a long dead star, the word had gone.
Each fledgling flash of life stumbled and fell
The interminable, mindless abyss sucked all thought within.

Graham Fewell