I’ve forgotten
What it’s like
Not to write
My feet no longer balk
At the brambles and vines
Obscuring the cobblestone path
To the oak doors of my mind
My hand does not curl
Into a hesitant fist
To knock against the surface
Waiting for the chimes
To herald my entrance
I refuse to loiter
By the window
Only peeping in
At the jewels housed within
For if I linger without
Hoping for the doors
To let me in
With a magical creak
And whisper of acceptance
I fear those jewels
Will be lost to me
Forever
Write On…
Nomad Writer 
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