On Writing (Again)

I miss writing. I used to be able to write half-decent lines at a moment's notice -- mostly, just for fun, or, as a writing exercise. I used to write love poems during high school and college (!) and my friends are perplexed as to it's origins, for they know I've never been in love. Those are just words for me, anyways, and stringing words have always been easy for me.

But then, I fell, and the words started dwindling. I couldn't write poetry. I couldn't write prose. I couldn't even draft my essays! The thing(s) I feared the most happened.

This year is my New Year, my new beginning. My recovery. I have found my words, and am starting to sharpen them once more, waking them from the rust-encrusted sleep that took them away from me.

And thankfully, the blogsphere is a treasure trove of inspiration. I just read a new post from an artist and the cogs of my brain started to churn, throwing aside those cobwebs that has become its veil for quite some time.

This is a work in progress, but this is a start. I hope to find more time, more avenues, for flirting once more with the written word.

The keys aligned, from black to white
as shadows and light play on
dreaming of her, radiant, bright
and this emptiness, now she's gone

These tunes of piercing, love-less pain
drives this beating husk crazy
nothing to haunt me in this den
but the shadow of your memory

Our song -- this tune of love and faith
now obscured like road on fog
erased everyting in my slate
but a pianist's monologue...