Poetic Injustice

Hang a placard on the door
Decree this empty tomb,
Toss tempting phrases as stones
And watch them fall like sloughed off skin
To crumple ‘round my feet,
Pretty baubles I adore
But fail to use

For I’ve forgotten how to write,
My words hang empty
Like countless pins upon the line
Their charges taken by the wind
That howls cold at night;
Their bobbing heads a bleak reminder
That the blood feeding my veins
Was once a brew of blended letters
Begging bled

Time was brave lines appeared 
Before my eyes with wild abandon
But now I sit with vacant stare
And watch the page that taunts me,
Pristine white,
Declaring victory over ink
And self expression,
Pointing fingers like cruel children
In the schoolyards
Calling  outcast! with a laugh
That chills the blood

Have I forgotten how to feel;
Have all my senses become numb?
The words that pass across my mind
Leave bitter flavour on my tongue
And where my heart once swelled 
With poetry to bursting point
It now just beats

 


may 2009
Janet Reid