I think about my life
and the choices I have made.
I hate that I quit writing.
Myself I have betrayed.
Its a part of me this I know
and I have not stayed true to it
of this I now have a hole in my soul.
I left a part of me behind
if you don't use it, it goes away in time.
I once felt like I had tapped into that source from where it comes
That stream that flows threw the universe,
the Nothing where inspiration comes from.
Right now I struggle for the words to come out right.
It's the power behind the words that make it worth the fight
So for now I am willing to struggle to put pen to paper
because to do nothing would be like spitting in the face of my maker.
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