I lost it
the simplistic nature of poetry
the words no longer pour from my lips
No longer do my message speaks on the shadows of the soul
Writers block they call it
Though I call it the end
Never shall my finger tips drip the ink that's read
Instead I let osmosis siphon the last of the poet that resides within
The last of my precious emotions displayed
A collectors edition...
Though there might be others,
None will ever come close to what it was
though not anytime soon, this remains true
the ticking clock chimes until the very end
Til the cog's rust over and the springs fall out of place
The one's that speak of me will say how great I was
They will tell stories of accomplishments
Only enforcing the facade of the outer me
The masked vigilante known as Jaboris
Yet who was "the poet"?
I am "the Poet"
A man who succeeds when life is at it's worse
When I die there will be no speakers
For poets die as poets live
Full of sorrow, pain, and loneliness
The true essence of poetry...
I lost it...
I lost myself somewhere in pretending to be Jaboris
The facade became me and I the facade
it is all that remains, and "the poet" is no more.