I am but a slave to those voiceless words,
A lonely prisoner with a marble smile.
Whispers on a perfumed breeze unheard
Linger as breath, the words dance wild.
Yet to find freedom in the piercing dark
These laughing ghosts torture my soul.
They claw at my throbbing, bleeding heart,
Yet with each tear, they make me whole.
This piece needs a lot of tweaking - it doesn't flow, but at least I am writing again! For months I have looked the blank page with pencil in hand and... nothing... I can now feel creativity oozing back into my veins. All my frustration can now fuel my art. I hope.