Empty pages glare at me
Bright white sheets stare back mockingly
Snuggled away in my den
Thinking constantly about what to pen
Hoping a good idea would pop into my head
Useless ideas pop up instead
Just static in my mind, drawing a blank
Running on fumes from an empty tank
A slight glimmer, an idea seems to sprout
Eureka! My mind seems to shout
I start to write down, feel a little tense
I look down at my work, it doesn’t make sense
Have to twist and turn a sentence here and a word
Like trying to coral a unruly herd
Now I am ready to commence
The words start flowing like a flood
As if a flower is starting to bud
I scribble away, for what seems like hours
Until I have lines of rhymes soaring like towers
Pleased with what I have? No just yet
Have to leave it alone, the paint is still wet
I come back days later, and read what I have penned
A few mistakes, sounds weird, it’s not the end
Chop and change, add new lines here and there
Exaggerate some words and add a little flair
Now it is ready for all to see
Hope it is good, for the people will judge
Is this heart break or naivety
Tears have ran into oceans
Heart has broken in two
Sadness overshadowed my heart
And yet I still feel love
Is this heartbreak or silliness
Words have hurt
Emotions saddened
Thoughts tangled
And yet I still love
Is this heartbreak or stupidity
My trust shaken
My belief torn apart
My hope burned
And yet I still love
Is this heartbreak or obsession
Me the last priority
Words that chop and change
Promises left in the air
And yet I still love
Words I believed
Trust you broke
Hope you diminished
And yet in all this sadness you have caused
I am the one who feels guilty
I am the one who feels wasn't enough
You always said you wanted
Wanted to be my best and worst
Here's to your happy ending
The sickest branches are easiest to spot,
by the damaged bark and the smell of rot
our shears are poised to trim and cut
the blades are opened and then snapped shut
But some, appear benign and healthy
their disease is sometimes sly and stealthy,
are these the ones that most need pruning,
if one's soul's to get a proper grooming?
A lie that's told to soften the blow
resentments kept by a fragile ego,
love withheld or trust denied,
oh, what's to trim can be hard to decide
No rationales and no self-pity,
no trusted friends, no sub-committees,
a mirror and a cold, bright light
may bring the truth into plain sight
Then chop and change, oh gardener!
With that comes growth, a spirit freer;
a heart that's rid of darkened places
makes life a lighter, gentler space