The Drought of Word

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.