Writers Envy

When the magic dies and the skin of the fruit dries and curls,
When one face looks like another, and you stop calling each other,
When you look for answers but your lips can’t voice the questions,
And the one you loved leaves you to fight yourself without Her,
And you wander lost in a desert of temptation not noticing the pleasures,
And numbness covers you in a sackcloth made from the ashes of dead dreams,
When the despair of Sailors drowning and no hope of rescue finds you
like Moses, gazing in chains at the promised land you dare not enter,

Then you find you want to believe, to reclaim the magic that let you
wake each day reborn, remade, renewed and not looking past your toes;
When your greatest joy was stamping through puddles left behind by the rain.

Then the One you loved returns on the river…

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