Gone Missing

Gone Missing As the new day awaits its morning sun, the blank page for my poem also waits. In stillness I listen for an inner voice, only to hear a deep silence in my soul. Ends end from where beginnings begin, but before I can end it I have to begin it. All I need is that one elusive key word to massage this pain of self-made hell, this page containing only a promise of what may be worthy to be called poetry. As the sun sets, my page and I sit, still waiting for what’s gone missing.