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Poem

Poetry has left me again 
I’ve bled the hills and trees for words
I’ve searched for verbs in the hours

When someone fills the emptiness
I will have no need for pronouns 
No talk or fragments fulfills you

I woke frenzied in the morning 
Put on headphones to muzzle thoughts
Anything but to hear your silence

When coffers are empty of nouns
I scrape the bottom of the barrel
Hoping for slick prepositions

You goad me to write an opus
To paint my vain adjectives true
To color not wanting replies

Resurrect wordly as Jesus did
Real as adverbs without fullness
To ascend to servers in glory

Craft a mind razor-sharp each day
Cutting through pronoun’s bull
Swinging conjunctions as swords

This poem has hemorrhaged me
I’ve bled for you till nothing’s left
Grammar paler with my emptiness

Careless of my prideful sharpening
Decimating mourning subjects
Fill me when objects go empty 

*** Ecclesiastes 1:2
'Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity.'

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