There comes a time in all creative act,
When surface impulse, having once been loud
And filled with words the page that once had lacked,
Returns to silence and lays like a shroud
Over mind and heart once so free and proud.
Now my faculties sit, weak and fearful,
And I am left confused, lost and tearful
Attempting to extract a buried truth
That may, at last, free me to be cheerful.
And so I must replay my clouded youth.
Written on 24th January 2020.