The well is dry
or so it seems,
for words that poured
out with little effort,
do not seem to be
anywhere. Not in
my head, not in the room,
nor on the floor
much too soon
to be going dry.
I will write down
to paper, all the words,
that come to me.
That should help
as it did before,
but have my doubts
that will work anymore.
So back again to the ramble
of a crazed mind,
who has no plan,
but little time to sit
and write the words.
I feel on this day
from you my Lord,
I hope and pray
that you will restore
my role, in this plan
that drains my soul,
but can't erase the memories
of days gone by.
Now to write, with some meaning,
not about politics, so demeaning,
but about the beauty, I see
in this great life
and in the joy
when I see my wife.
She is here, in her splendor
and these words I do render.
So let my mind work again
and I'll not be an also ran.
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