Coming Back

Lacking inspiration

I have sat here looking through the empty window of my mind

Having buried my soul under

This protective insulation . . a pile of emotions

An empty pane

Serving me no purpose

Injected by the needle of spite

A past time of another’s shallow delight

And insecure denial of right.

So wrong.

So cold.

Contrasting with the warmth of my open arms

I feel obliged to embrace

Not another

But myself

Refill the reservoir of life

That once flowed easily

From the inside, to the outside.

Of me.

 

2006 D. L. Cox