A POET'S LAMENT

A POET'S LAMENT ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Under the night's blank canvas, I sit, a lone figure, my ink-stained fingers poised. I carry the burden of unsaid poetry, ideas that were never expressed, and metaphors that disappeared like echoes. I linger upon the rhymes that unraveled like threads pulled from an old sweater, frayed and forgotten, lost in the seams of time. I am lost in the fabric of language unable to stitch together an ensemble of cohesive words. In dawn’s quiet hours, I wait for inspiration, for the first light to break, to spill over into the edges of my thoughts. I sit, a solitary figure my weary mind suspended beneath the empty canvas of daylight.