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Rated: E · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2042443
He's suffering from writer's block, yearning for his love, his long-lost muse.
Lost Without You

“Come to me Baby,
Visit me in a dream.
Come to me My Love,
For I’m not what I seem.

I’m lost without you,
Don’t know what to do.
I’m alone, so alone now,
Join me, I'm ready for that vow.”

He stood there in despair, head in his hand,
Knew not how to proceed, felt less than a man.
Silently he prayed, his body wracked with sobs,
Tears streamed down his cheeks, he sought to speak with God.

Religious he was not, but to Him he often turned,
God fearing he was, yet never did feel spurned.
He spoke to Him in the only way he could,
Knew his words were heard, no matter where he stood.

Once again he recited his plea,
Then fell to the sand upon his knees.
When troubled, he came to the ocean,
Hoping his love, would sense this emotion.

“Come to me Baby,
Visit me in a dream.
Come to me My Love,
For I’m not what I seem.”

Finally he quieted, his soul now at peace.
His heart was calm, his sobs had ceased,
He strolled home, head held high once again.
His muse had returned, a poem born in sand.

Jim Dorrell
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