I"m always here I"m never there

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 ©


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