Fallen Robin

I think of the times
when fingers fly,
with papers full
the ink is dry

And though I cannot
force it so,
I feel as if
I ought to know

The perfect words
to pick and choose,
to bare my soul
and chase my blues

And so I'm left
too numb to feel,
the passions needed
to grease my wheel

With tired rhymes
and darkened mind,
I only write
to pass the time

Reviews

[Misery]

Nicely woven, dear poet.
A confession tautly wrapped in a silent melody.

[DreadfulBride]

a clever and fluid write. ref, last 2 stanzas; Wander a sunny shore or a darkling wood, who may know?
One may find pretty stone, a toad stool ring or perhaps even... maybe ... epoch.