Paused

my voice is gone; my thoughts have flown away.
i find my mind devoid of things to say,
and yet the interest still exists in me
to set afire the words i cannot see.
but how - i ask - can one open a cage?
and how can one read from an empty page?
i try too hard and yet i see the truth:
i've lost the flow'r that sprouted in my youth.
what once was watered each and every day
has been allowed to wither and decay.
perhaps if i endure my grating style,
resolve to make my phrases more worthwhile,
lock insecurities outside the gate,
i'll return to younger self at later date.

Drip

i cannot get a steady flow
just a drip drip drip
my mind is clogged with rust
unused and unappreciated
i have no schedule
i have no consistency
so when i finally decide
its time to write
i drip drip drip
this pitiful attempt
to unstop the clog
should be ignored before its read
i wish i had consistency
i wish it were easy
but ease is a sign of
working below your level
its not easy
difficulty is a blessing
i need to embrace that idea
i must challenge myself
so i can advance
or i'll be stuck on the ground floor