As I ponder the idea of writing and how I begin
I return to the past, where my pen was used the most
The words speak from there, telling me one thing
I write the best when I am loved
My favourite pieces do not contain l'amore
In fact, once I fell in love, I ceased love-focus
I wrote my soul, what I felt within was more
More than just the love I felt from him
I loved the boy, I loved to write
I loved to tell him of a new work of poetic art
He would not understand my words
But he read and appreciated anyway
Now I no longer have the love
Without it, I can't seem to write what's in my heart
Empty, just like the ink barrel of my pen
Just like the frame he left behind
I waited a lifetime for him to arrive
A lifetime to gain poetic bliss
I'm now lifeless; no love, no pen
I'm lost...
Adding your comment:
This is a lovely, poignant piece, Poet. I've been writing since I was 14 and recently turned 51. Poetry has been my sanctuary, my backbones, my chosen method of expression for most of my life. It offers such solace - even when we are not writing ourselves, there are so many other voices singing similar songs, complementing the harmony we all seek. All we ever need do is to write straight from the wells of our hearts - the pen and paper will do the rest. They know what they need to say. 
