Uninspired

my pen today is slow and weak so bleak of what people seek of love it see's empty lines only memories of what's far behind my patriot lies in a silent grave unremembered are the boast he made my pride has fears of being attacked unmoved by silence and hearing he lacks my eyes see beauty but prefers the unwritten my heart still desires but has not been smitten my interest have waned because of work my crazy wild side won't go berserk of life I have nothing to say this barrenness of feelings won't go away even who I love is a mystery is she dead, living or even near me but a poet lives inside of me still waiting to write what it will seeking a greatness from words distilled fancily written as though from a quill