Lost and Found

It
should, come easy
the thoughts, should flow
through the lines in
blue, black trails,
A
testament, devotional
a plea, for love
a dream wrapped in coy parentheses
that flirt from the pen to the
eye, wide
an inspirational, a confessional,
an ocean...

I open, my mouth
an the ink spills forth
dry,
in long, drawn out sighs
impatiently marking the page
with
faint, dying, condensations..

points, beleaguered
and
processes, forced
flowery phrases,
leave me cold
feeling jaded, from trying
am I lost?
is the well, barren stone
or is it just that
the Effort, impedes
the Emotion?

Is
it gone?
can it be, recovered?
Or..
if I would simply
Stop
I would discover,
that there it is,
I
just did it.
Chrissie 12/29/02