The poet could not write
because of fear, because of pride,
She searched for herself in the mirror's gaze,
Yet found no reflection, just a maze
She sought to reclaim her forsaken past,
But found naught but shadows,
naught but emptiness, naught by tears.
She felt her words begin to fail,
yet did nothing until too late,
Of her true self, now so far away.
nothing at all remained,
In silent agony, her private hell,
Words deserted, no tales to tell.
She yearned to write of chains unseen,
Of nightmares dark, where she'd been.
To speak of silent, stolen speech,
Of all that seemed forever out of reach.
The poet couldn’t write,
because of fear, because of pride,
she held a pen but found no strength
she found no light behind her eyes
those eyes of darkness and regret,
stared into her own hollowness,
and shackled the words she should not say,
the poet couldn’t write,
because of fear, because of pride
Shackled by words left unspoken,
The poet's spirit remained broken.