A Hobby Lost...

Upon a time, in yesteryear,

Freely could I vent my thoughts,

When inspiration was easily found,

And poetry I eagerly wrought.

I could compose, when I wished

And wish... I so often did,

And every day, or in the night

My feelings to paper released

Words there were, in passages too

Pieces both heavy and light,

Seeking topics to channel my need

I craved the chance to write

I did this long, for years on end,

Before my heart grew cold,

The desire sickened and slowly died

My passion had begun to mold

There never was a conscious thought

Or awareness that I had changed,

I always felt, I would write again

If only some time was arranged

What free time I already had,

I wasted on idle schemes,

Nothing gained and nothing won

Till my zeal had faded to dreams

It became rarer, to even recall

The pleasure that I had bidden adieu,

And when I did, I always promised,

That soon, I would start anew.

It got easier, with the lapse of time

My guilt was hardly felt,

New joys, now surrounded me,

To mask the old one's welt.

Now at last, I seem to sense,

The wound of the quiet demise

Abandoned, by my oldest leisure,

No longer can I hide my cries

It was how I dealt with loss and grief,

Of expressing the love I knew

Humor and sorrow, and pride and lust

Feelings that try to break through.

So, I sit alone and try my best

To make amends for my past

I hope again to embrace you friend,

For without you I too cant last.

It had been easy to let you go,

But harder to get you back,

Words flow no more as they did of old,

And I must stop, my brains to rack.

Thought not impulsive and freely formed

As the pieces I used to write,

Just as heartfelt, is this cry of pain

That begs you to banish my plight.

I cannot promise I shall never be gone,

For the future is veiled to me

I will say this, if it helps at all

I regret my letting you flee

Wont you return, my oldest mate

My friend in times of need

I hope you do for I have much to share,

Things that have made me bleed.