Helpless, blue in the face
Because I can’t take a breath
Until I quench this thirst.
I look outside and see
Nothing but poison rain.
A rising flood of feeling is inside of me,
But no words to let it out with.
A silent forest:
Sickly branches scratch my eyelids
But still, I cannot move.
I look up at a dry sky
The ground is thirsty,
My pen is thirsty,
So I open a vein but nothing comes out,
No blood spills to relieve my pain.
Staring at the ceiling
As if waiting for it to say something;
Waiting for words…
Where are the silvery word-wisps
That usually flow like rain?
Where are the fables, stories, tales?
My words are locked up
With a key I cannot find
Swimming in limbo,
Lost in the labyrinth of my own mind.
All pent-up inside: Prisoners; captives,
The ember has died;
Only cold ashes left behind;
A flower that refuses to unfurl.
A lovely little worm stirs in my brain,
The tiny brush of a feather.
But then it’s gone and I’m all used up:
A fire out of smoke,
A cloud out of rain,
A pen out of ink.
Hello, I am the author of an ongoing poetry collection here on Image Curve, and I recently published an eBook called “Em”. It’s a picture book for kids that I also illustrated. Click here to get your copy on Amazon:
buy Lëaf Ednïwinga’s book on amazon: Em: A Picture-Book Fable
more by Lëaf Ednïwinga
photograph Sylvain ReygaertsHire An Editor