Unwriting

I cannot write or see beneath these tears,

there’s always more to say and more to feel

I fear that it will take too many years.

I must press on, although it feels surreal.

Some days the words don't come, unsettle me

or come but brim-filled, sin-filled leaking all

untruth, cannot untangle and set free.

Long verses all begin to sound so small.

Some sidewalks slip, they drip with grey-brown rain

there's too much downpour, even in the sun,

mud seems to cloud the colors, the terrain.

I wonder where it ends, I’ve not begun

to sink my pen in ink, that paints for me

soft illustrated words that sing and flee.