Shy Words

My world is no longer a flurry of poems
Or songs sung sweetly to many sunny Springs
’Tis neither a lark’s lore of furious flight
Nor the spiralling heartbreak that descent brings —

Although pale pages lie waiting for sorrow,
Tearful outbursts and laughter to fulfil them,
The Sun shines on, unmindful of tomorrow,
Its beams sewn surely to Eternity’s hem.

The rains claim their place amidst parched pliant ground,
My heartbeat echoing every raindrop’s sound,
Yet as panes grow misty and my senses numb,
My soul stiffens slowly and the ink stays bound.

Within and without, with grief or without doubt
My lips rest their case with an unuttered sigh —
Drifting clouds pass by, the sun scorches the sky,
Leaves glisten with dewdrops, yet my words stay shy.