I am trying to create.
But I’m filled with the fear that it’s too late.
I wrote of war and love and peace,
but I gave my gift to fate.
I am trying to create,
but the words I need don’t resonate
and come to me as they once did
when I believed the words were great.
I am trying to create,
but I can’t do it in this state
of angry fear and restless calm-
a life I can not help but hate.
I am trying to create
a work that proves it’s not too late
to capture what I know I’ve lost
and force the words to resonate.