Tinkering with emptiness
on the notepad of my mind
I doodle some musings
scribble some ramblings
fumbling with random words
on a blank tablet called mind.
I was once a poet.
That is, I thought that I could think.
Now, unable to do that ordinary chore of my emotions,
I realise to my utter dismay ~
The memories that were finally pushed away
Are the ones that wrote the verse every single day.
I was merely the pen & paper
Supplied by the muse, The ink flowed directly my way..
what an irony that to be fulfilled or resigned to fate
Has, from U, the most beautiful gift snatched away.