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.
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