Heartstrings threadbare and tattered;
your song has diminished to an out-of-tune ditty.
That all-consuming love was not pretty,
for it offered no room to grow. Wouldn’t you know
that hanging on for dear life may have been the error,
the lapse of judgement you stumble upon from time-to-time.
So you clutch your rhyme and time-worn verse
and curse the day survival became all-obsessive;
a possessive piece of property over which you had lost control.
No more selling your soul. You have found that inspiration
will find you even after you’ve stopped searching.
Out of the lurch and swinging from your perch. A canary
with nary a care but to express what his heart envisions.
Always whistling a new tune. Hum along if the words escape you.
Mine run out from time to time!
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016