No sentences flow in coherence,
Towards a climax of words and phrases,
No telling of epic tales and eras long gone or yet to come.
Our conflict sits, a dam,
Against the channel of creativity,
Blocking visualization on symbolism
An obstacle against all concepts,
Made beyond reach to my discontented mind.
Stories don’t ebb and flow like they used to do,
They don’t eddy and swirl,
To the path of least resistance,
Be it pen or key
From my mind to these pages,
There is no sound in this silence,
As id and ego wage war for the wanting of your fancy
No spark in the darkness
No flicker in the distance
No signal to lead me back to what you stole,
When you stole my words along with my contentment,
Locking them behind bars along with our goodwill.
I can’t write when we’re not talking