Every Morning, Lately

THE WRITER WAKES

I feel the despair welling in me
As I lie in my bed just at dawn.
I know that my words are all rotting,
I know my ideas are all gone.
The writing I’d hoped to continue,
The words I was longing to find,
All blew away in the darkness.
Not even one stayed behind.
I ache to find reason in living,
Yet the purpose I yearn for evades.
I thought I might find it in writing,
But on waking the dream always fades.

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