So, funny story….since I uploaded the poem about writer’s block I have been unable to pick up a pen.
Worse than that, the very thought of uploading an old poem filled me with dread. Procrastination, dread and tiredness are conditions that can dig their claws into anyone.
Today I finally built up the courage to drag a pen across a blank page. I felt like I was riding an untamed horse, holding on for dear life and praying not to thrown to the ground. After some post-writing rework, I now present to you a new poem.
The lover
I have been the lover with
a short attention span
The one who has forgotten the sound of your name.
I am the lover who wandered off
into the forest and
never came back.
I am the lover who provides no
answers in these words,
Words that are just shapes
running together, pairing up.
I am failed by the overwhelming
sense of dread
That you will be repulsed by my reappearance as much as
my absence.
All that selfishly lost time
in the forest (silent and dark).
Wrapped in her comforting embrace
of cold stillness.
And now I have become afraid of the light, and movement, and words.
I am as lost to myself as I am lost to you.
I am the lover who will fade from memory,
The one whose name will slip away
I am the lover you will, perhaps, stumble across
one day as you wander the forest.
Angele Toomey Poetry 