I used to have a trickle of words
but now they’re all dammed up.
I’m afraid to pull the blockage
and to be greeted by a dry well.
I wonder if
the Oracle of Delphi ever
It’s been a while
Not quite my style
To architect a little ditty.
While maintaining that witty
On blank space, until
I have more than pity.
My words have lost the pleasing sway of the women who walk softly.
No longer do they whisper or entreat, but stare dumb
Empty of all, but the faint guttering of a flame near extinguished.
They have forgotten sun and song and dance
Are hollowed of the joy which animates them as blood does me.
I leave my door ajar, but they do not go
Only mutely plead for a sustenance I cannot know to give.
That my words
Be greeted with silence.
The empty page remains empty
Like my heart remains empty of feeling
No subtle fondness curls in my mind
No embryo rises from the watery depths
In the darkness, its eyes remain closed
And that door, which so many think,
Leads to other worlds, but leads to the truest me,