Breaking Down the Barricade

Here I Go...

Here I go,

writing out sliding words

I don’t know

will come out from the pen.

Like a boat

that slowly makes its way

on a river, afloat,

not certain where it will take me.

I feel somewhat rusty,

it takes a while for the old joints

to loosen up from their dusty

constraints, hidden away for some time.

I’ve kept my pen locked away for too long,

because I’ve been incredibly unsure,

worried if what slips out is wrong,

if, like the boat, it takes me too far.

Am I ready for the ride?

I can’t tell, but tonight,

I’m not afraid to hide.

So I here I go, as I write,

for the first time,

in a while.

...But Not Yet...

I am free,

so eager to do

so ready to pursue

yet I cannot flee.

My head starts to spin,

and I watch my fingers flutter.

In my head, I mutter,

the thought that I can’t win.

Am I never to be too excited?

My heart beats so quickly,

the words come out meekly,

and I am not delighted.

My focus, instead, dips,

and I curse my condition,

and I must lay down submission,

that I’ll have to leave my pen as it drips.

...At Least Not Like Before

I’m afraid I cannot do it like before.

I used to be graceful with the pen

my words strong as armies of men,

but,

nonetheless,

I can’t do it like I used to before.

I used to kiss my thoughts, “Bon voyage”,

as they travelled onto the page,

but this evening,

they seemed to have gone only halfway,

not like they used to before.

Words would prance on nimble toes,

but I cannot get my humble woes

to dance

like they used to before.

I fear the spiteful little muse

has found another poet to amuse,

and may help them

like they did me,

before.

But I say, “No!”, to this militant wall,

of stone that obstructs my tall

ambitions,

to get back,

to how I used to be before.

I will beat down the barricade,

like a mighty, revolutionary raid,

and be free of obstacles,

so that,

maybe,

I could write like I did

before.