Wordblock
My words have left me.
Disembarked from the wrong platform,
and have hastily become a distant memory.
When shall my thoughts return?
That once so delicately graced my tongue,
and consorted with my hand to pen it so.
To where shall I wonder?
Barren of verse and prose; now disposed virtues.
Must I craft asylum in a foreign land?
It is not words that betray, but silence.
For it lends no comfort, nor offers expression,
but lingers like an ill-gotten nuance.
Oh words, value your mortal vessel and return.
Omit the distance that separates us so, and
eagerly scribe again within mind and satchel.
Copyright © Charlotte Watkins | Year Posted 2021
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