Slumber

I find myself unable to write

About the emotion that used to hold me tight.

To this, my pen now lies in rest.

My words no longer sing of what I used to write best.

Writings ruled by so much emotion

Page upon page filled with such passion

The heart poured into every word, every line.

These were the letters, the stories I called mine.

But now no such words pour out of my head

What used to come naturally is now a river that runs dead.

But it is not that I cannot write anymore

It is only of this, that my mind seems a locked door.

I used to never be in lack of a muse

But now museless, my writings are no longer romantically infused.

The Moon is gone, and so are feelings unrequited.

It is high time I write of else, freely and undaunted.

I am unable to fall in love, my heart seemingly indifferent

Not that I cannot feel love, 'tis only of my own romance am I pococurante

But of the love around me, I too becomed moved

There is no bitterness, for their joy, I am delighted.

Now if I were to write of love again, it will no longer sing about the Moon's plight.

Of mutual love and the happiness it brings, these instead, my pen will write.

Because this story has already seen its fair share of hurts and pain

And we know it is a rainbow that comes after every rain.

But for now, as of now, my heart lies unclaimed

Yet someday, this heart that runs free will also again be tamed.

It is the day this slumbering weapon of love will finally awaken

It is the day that I will fall in love again.