Overcoming the obstacles placed before a writer who must overcome doubt.
These words that want to be said
lie like the rusty, soiled tools
in my neglected shed.
These dreams yearning to aspire
drift off like the clouds, searching
inside this empty head.
You smile and tell me,
'That's alright dear,
there's always tomorrow.'
But what if tomorrow is here?
Eyes yearning to envision,
sink like two dull stones,
flung away in some murky water,
hopeless to ever emerge again.
Once swelling hopes
beating rhythm inside my chest,
grow weary like the anchored heart,
unable to surge...not again.
You show no expression
and send me on my way,
'There's always tomorrow.'
But I still have something to say.
These arms crush arrogant complacence,
the bitter rock crumbling into dust;
imploding inside my air.
Feels pretty good now.
These nimble hands glide
like skilled skaters on ice,
uncover gold, treasures in words,
and you wonder how?
No seeds of doubt
to supress my thoughts now.
It is you who must go away.
Come again some other day
and say, 'I knew him when...'