With you I am a poet, author, artist,
Regardless of who sees what I pen out or
Sketch to paper or who hears what I whisper to the wind…
Without you, I’m a writer with writer’s block.
Words lose their magic, my love for poetry dies,
My imagination fades, I cease to
Enjoy turning pages to enjoy others’ art.
I am unable to create pieces of art that
Leave me inspired, wondering how
That happened, where the words came from or
Where pictures came from or where the simplest of flowers took its form.
Unable to enjoy the company of your creation,
I die and wither like a beautiful rose
Deserted in a desert of my choosing. Unless
I can enjoy the rays of your Son
And draw or paint pictures of you, I am no artist
Written 11/01/2014- 12/01/2014 (about midnight)