Attempt 1

I’m drinking grape juice from a wine glass, attempted placebo

just isn’t the same as red wine on my lips

I’m thinking of all the changes of late

unsure how to pen the words I’ve kept hidden

Poetry was my voice, I grew tired of hearing

the same old story, the same old script

time brings me back to attempt it again

it feels very rusty, like a slow drip

I used to write freely, didn’t have to rhyme

rhythm flowed through me, I’d take a deep breath

I would open my depths, allow fire to heal me

to reverse the damage of a slow death

The Phoenix would rise, and fall again slowly

as the air up above felt foreign, unclean

I had made a safe space for myself in my darkness

content in my walls, I would never be seen

But now loved ones have passed, I miss them dearly

We have to wear masks, wash our hands

and hope that we won’t be the next victim

of a virus that saturates all our lands

Too much of one thing can be growth stunting

Sometimes I just wish the time to pass

but I have the will to write new poems

the time is now, and this is my chance.

Emily C. Poesie © 2020

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