I feel a bit empty- devoid of true inspiration, and of real desire to create. I make things, but I don’t feel myself go into it the way I used to. Why? This apathy confuses me. I have written only two poems since my last post, both having to do with my lack-luster mood of late. Please excuse my rhymes. I haven’t written poetry in a while.Nomad I
Now all the passion live within my soul Grows empty and my imaginings are lulled To blaze in me the fear that fears no night Nor does it squander life’s now void delights For without chance my heart begins to cede To all the terror and hope that lives in me. ~A. Godfrey ©
When dreams of friends pass
through my eyelids and veins
and all regrets are ash
and all twas love is pain
I wish that all the beauty
that lives outside my soul
would lend me some tranquility
to help prevent this hole
this ache that lives inside of me
this fear that knows no fear
I feel as if my eyes don’t see
as if my ears don’t hear.
What is life without this light of lights?
my mind and body struggle to take flight
With tenderness I stroke wounds of the past
for living’s hard for those who live it fast.
~A. Godfrey ©