Writers' Lament

By, J. Lynn Dickson

A writer is seldom without expression
Without a fragment of thought
Sewn together in a line of truth
And still I sit with a needle in my hand
Without string to join emotions and words
With shaking hands I try to lace inspiration
But misty vision prevents the grasp
Stitch by stitch I unravel
Memories pull on the heart, on the strands of me
And rest in a knotted ball at my feet
My quilt is missing color, lackluster and threadbare
Shades pale in disillusion
My soul slips between its folds
Hides in its creases of familiar tears
And disappears