poem #10: broken pen

i'm not so sure if i'm blocked
or just building them
my pen is pushed by passion
so am i passion-less?
less of a scribe,
because i can't ride a vibe?
been sitting on a lot
of parked prose
and idle lines
nothing fulfilling
the flame of a furied pen turning to ash
not a thing
to catapult me into the throes
the words...
they used to roll like
big mama's panty line
like papa's stone
like a classic caddy on chrome
like damn...
when will it return?
can it be,
my days as a poet
have waned
and i didn't know it?
did i miss the hint
had i never owned this gift
was it just divinely lent?
do i need to be in love,
have my heart wrung dry
just to scribble out fraught lines?
can't you see?
every poem is one of literal longing
beseeching my pen
or ruing love's end
and i want more...
i want epic
classic
timeless
poetry for posterity
and i can't even write without
writing out
my pen's black out!

pray for my pen


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