The pen hovers still

The pen hovers still,
Frozen like midwinter thoughts.
While ink slowly dries.

How did I write, then,
In those days before you came,
Bringing me such joy?
Now that you are gone from me,
My shattered art weeps such words.

Joy taught me the skills,
That gives life to hollow thought,
Arranged in sad forms.

3 thoughts on “The pen hovers still

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