A poem told through the eyes of a poet's pen
Miserable existence, it's been three weeks now I've lain.
My heart is like a rosebud as it withers without rain.
Feeling banished, looking tarnished, my protocol is strained.
No paper chase, nor poet's face, just sorrow that's ingrained.
Miserable existence, productivity at all time low.
Has he found himself a new love,a finer string to match his bow.
In days of yore he held me, dotting i's and crossing t's.
Such regal days, like Shakespeare's plays, our thesis done with ease.
Miserable existence, hear the sombre silence sift.
Is it writer's block, an illness caught, i thought he had a gift?
I hear far distant voices and the jangling of keys.
I'm sure it is my master, could he have some words for me?
Feelings of elation as he takes me thumb and two.
Bolero on the parchment as i stick to him like glue
His hand looks tanned, i think he's had a fortnight in the sun.
Let's make this dance a good one, as two hearts beat as one.
As Per Elizabeth Squires' Aussie Inspirational Title Challenge.
(Thanks for the inspiration Elizabeth,i could not have penned it without you.)