I am empty; nothing have I now to say.
The stream of my soul from where sentiment once flowed; now runs dry.
An unexplained drought of words I know not why.
I am in desperate need of showers of inspiration and illumination.
A thousand words I would pray; for this drought to end and once
again take up my pen.
Alas, my pen no longer speaks, but in silence now offends.
Writer's ink disappears upon a white bleached page;
the quill has nothing to lend.
It is as though a fire shut up in my bones; a burning heat within.
My heart aches for a single drop of brilliance
as I seek for something to say, and earnestly pray for inspirational rain.
For streams of refreshing I long, OH, that the heavens would open and return
my poetic song.