I’ve lost my art,

connections to those earnest feelings,

free-wheeling creativity.

Absence of a second self,

a lightness to texture and touch.

“Come to the dance.”

I can’t see us on the canvas,

in those brush strokes,

shapes apparent of humanity.

Enlightenment missing from the ranks,

Obscured beauty rendered of the stars.

“Can you see it now.”

I can’t hear it,

though the eloquence of your words should make it so,

poetry stirring the embers of my soul.

Losing life’s heart beat,

life’s dawn kiss and sunsets descent to grey.

“Can you feel it now.”

My loss, my art is lost.

© editor@unheardwords.com, 2004 (all rights reserved)