Emmanuel Joseph writes

A Despair Cry Of A Poet

Words are gone missing, in a mind,
a paper lies empty
beside a pen of no ink.

Alone, i'm here in the woods
begging, and crying, and yearning
a distance too far to return home
astray like Cain in an ever-ending search,
for a touch, that seems no longer mine.

i've long here waited,
parching birds across the lips
here, yawning to yarn for a kiss.

it is still dark, still feverish twisting
of my soul, for your hands
beneath this tree
where love no longer hold
in the blooms, clung like a glue,
not with a pen, nor with an ink,
but with the Nile-drops of my eyes

i'm here my darling Lucy
painting every memory on the crest.
If ever comes your mercy upon me,
I, in your Noah's ark will forever be
with your breath in my nostril,
holding your arms, breeding in your breath.
Come Lucy, for a poet cries in despair.

 -- Bernard Barnes