Poetry, a prodigal son

Written Aug 19, 2014

poetry was my way of life,
but now it's just a discouraging sigh,
as I sit and stare at the gaping white
of eight-by-eleven stock paper without lines - where was the ebb and flow,
the sense of anger, urgency, and the places I needed to go?
I don't seem to care, and I really don't know,
so I'll sit here and stare until my prodigal son comes home.

Reviews

[Kate Z.]

Will you, like the Father, welcome that prodigal with open arms? This poem touches my heart because I have experienced the same sense of loss in writing and in other creative endeavors. Yet, I know too, that when the prodigal returns, I sometimes welcome him back with a strange mixture of joy and distrust.

[Maxwell Ryder]

Thank you, K MacLugh
I will wait patiently for him. And love him dearly when he returns.
read moreThank you, K MacLugh
I will wait patiently for him. And love him dearly when he returns.
I wish that your son always be with you, and that we both don't suffer this periodic loss.
Best regards