Bittersweet pain bleeds from my fingertips thru the pen onto the page
Creativity has been silenced
Month of the poem doesn’t inspire
It only pains to read the words of others
Inspiring a longing in my heart for the place it once was
Searching for the lost dreams that reality silenced and gagged
Maturity overruled naivety and idealism
Childlike views blinded by the clouds covering the sunlight that once shone so bright
My running shoes are worn out and I’ve realized it’s not worth chasing things that don’t want to be caught
So I fly the white flag and lay down my pen of dreams
I’m tired of dreaming dreams that only keep me up at night and just leave me sad and nauseous
I’m putting the child hood toys and childhood dreams back in the toy box where they belong
And getting a good rest to face a new day tomorrow
04/03/2013 at 10:01 am
I feel this, have felt this, will feel this again. And then I remember that being a grown up doesn’t mean the toys have to stay in the box every minute of every day. My heart is too entirely stubborn for that.
And I can tell in the turn of a phrase that yours is, too.