The Ghost of Poems Past

And where’s the metaphor in writer’s block?

And isn’t it obvious?

No, not when you’re the writer with writer’s block

and how can you start again

when nothing has ended?

I have poems

saved a few months back

poems I’m too terrified to read

poems that once loved me now mock me

poems that once breathed now bleed

now I weep for the trees that gave their lives

to be the paper to soak in the ink that links

these lies back to me.

I swear to God

I didn’t mean them to be.

Written with the best intentions

now haunting in their meaning

meaning they have been born and died and reappear as specters this night

while I haven’t moved an inch from where I sat to write.


2 thoughts on “The Ghost of Poems Past

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