Not unlike most creative writers, poets fall into a slump as well. When I was delivered my gifts to write poetry just a few years back, I was on a roll, a high. I felt like I was reaching out to others who went through similar circumstances, comments came in, accolades were showered on my work. The feeling of being wanted and needed made me realize the impact ones past could have on others. I wept, felt and lived most of what I penned. Certainly metaphors were used, but so much of my soul was placed in my prose. There were moments when I wrote that broke me down, the pen was laid aside as I left my home to walk endlessly it seemed, into the darkness, under the stars or faded moon. My composure would return, the white page awaited me and I again poured my soul out for my readers.
You see, my losses have been severe the past 14 years. To lose ones family, to become an outcast, no longer worthy of any kind of love from your children. Weaker men and woman crumble and some even end their lives, I must confess, this poet had thoughts of ending it all as well. Yet somewhere deep down inside, I knew I wanted to live, survive and get past this great loss. Many a day and night it was my poetry that saved my sanity, I had to write and keep writing. Having said this, of late, I feel like I’ve hit the wall. Maybe I’ve filled my tank, there is nothing left.
Was it just a season, a reason to try my hand at writing? To pour my soul out to whomever would care to read my work and then turn off the faucet. Somehow I feel drained, like my Muse has left me! I am thankful that for the season of my discontent, yet contented knowing that I release the demons from my past by writing of them. I heard a sigh in my heart, maybe even my dear mother’s angelic voice, saying you are a good son and I love you.
So in writing this short blog, I just felt compelled to share with my followers how I’ve been feeling of late. The inspiration comes and goes and I fear that I am empty. I will let my Muse find me again if it’s meant to be, or leave me after knowing he released in me what needed to be let out. I am thankful for the method that was given me to release my past, by sharing it in my prose. Poetry is a gift, no matter for how long it is given us to share. I am very thankful that I was able to share what I could and receive the admiration and love from so many of you. I hope it will return to me, for now I am in limbo awaiting the outcome and my Muse to return. I leave you with the verse below.
“I am lost in my dreams during daylight, fearing that which escapes me will only enter my thoughts at nights dawning. Although not fearful in my nightmares, nor of eternal damnation, eternity is but a candle wicks flutter. Oh but the thrill of waking to a new morn to free up the secrets held within my soul, while it wandered in total darkness, yet not revealing my true identity.”