A Writer's Friends

Without them you are empty.

You stare out the window

But you never see their faces lit by sunlight.

When you hear that song

That flash of vision, that heady compulsion

Will never appear.

Words are only words now

They never come as friends 

To take you to faraway dreams.

There is no spark of quick delight 

No feverish tapping on worn keys

No endless devotion to endless fancy

Only a lonely girl 

And a blank page.

This poem is about: 


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