The Writer's Joy

The Writer's Joy ~


There is ache in me,
One leaning against my fragile pane.

A windy desperation,
Which only words can take take from me.

This life it slowly sucked my art away,
And It took away my comforts,
Within its malicious hands it,
Stole away my lustful pen.

A desperate pane of glass inside-
Searching, always searching for the sun

. . .


The words have left me,
They left me forever,
Until I had nothing left-
Nothing to provide me joy!

Shattered cracks, along the pane,
Which no one will admit lives beneath,
Those glassy cool faces and masks-

Where has it gone!

Dear God, please help me to admit,
The shards of truth I must confess,
And If I should die tomorrow,
God must help me to
Put these together once again,
Into a cool pane of glass,
A face which seeks your precious sun.

No cracks shall mar it,
As the words return to me,
And shall flow strongly through my breast,
With joy undocumented by,
This faithful, lovely pen,
Before I had my day begun,
It's muse now strengthened through,
It's lengthy absence-
While life flows through my veins,
As my ideas are finally lit with,
God's sunlight.