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Description
Winter fell upon the landscape of the mind like a tent,
Suffocating the thoughts and their demands for fulfillment .
Slowed down their roving and wordy raids
Sluggish and sleepy they laid down their blades
And oh so soon did they slumber away
And by cupids arrow, their crusade led astray.

Too busy with lovers kisses has been lips and tongue,
Caught up whispering sweet words has my voice and my lungs.
And my hands once taking up pen, have taken up holding hands
As my head drunk on romance abandoned old lands.
Old hunting grounds where muses do inspire in sleep
And verses bubble hot, a vent from the deep;
Temples to the wordsmiths, gods of beauty and expression,
I now must revisit with this guilty confession.

For I have strayed far, from the path of the word
Letting thoughts and ideas die going unheard
Dreams put on shelves to sit gathering dust
While the gears in my head began to form rust.
Something had to give, something had to break
For my soul felt empty, it was time to awake.

One day the snow melted, and things began to arise
And they growled out in frustration and loud hunger cries
For deprived of expression they awoke thin and neglected
Angrily berating me for being rejected.
That I had abandoned creativity, my one faithful friend
And my pen, who was ready to go to all ends
To pour out my pain in my hour of need
Bear witness to my life, every good and bad deed.

Poetry, my savior in every dark or needed time
I now plead for forgiveness in this growing rhyme
That you whisper to my soul as you have in the past
So our bond might stay strong and through all times last.

Description
Winter fell upon the landscape of the mind like a tent,
Suffocating the thoughts and their demands for fulfillment .
Slowed down their roving and wordy raids
Sluggish and sleepy they laid down their blades
And oh so soon did they slumber away
And by cupids arrow, their crusade led astray.

Too busy with lovers kisses has been lips and tongue,
Caught up whispering sweet words has my voice and my lungs.
And my hands once taking up pen, have taken up holding hands
As my head drunk on romance abandoned old lands.
Old hunting grounds where muses do inspire in sleep
And verses bubble hot, a vent from the deep;
Temples to the wordsmiths, gods of beauty and expression,
I now must revisit with this guilty confession.

For I have strayed far, from the path of the word
Letting thoughts and ideas die going unheard
Dreams put on shelves to sit gathering dust
While the gears in my head began to form rust.
Something had to give, something had to break
For my soul felt empty, it was time to awake.

One day the snow melted, and things began to arise
And they growled out in frustration and loud hunger cries
For deprived of expression they awoke thin and neglected
Angrily berating me for being rejected.
That I had abandoned creativity, my one faithful friend
And my pen, who was ready to go to all ends
To pour out my pain in my hour of need
Bear witness to my life, every good and bad deed.

Poetry, my savior in every dark or needed time
I now plead for forgiveness in this growing rhyme
That you whisper to my soul as you have in the past
So our bond might stay strong and through all times last.