Lamenting on the magic, passion, and drive needed to be a writer.

The voice in my head are silent
Friends,
Beings,
Characters,
Who’ve I’ve know for so many years.

Where have you gone?
I miss you
I want you back
Please listen to me

But why should you?
I’ve ignored you for so long
You came to me
And I said go away, I’m busy.

Well, I’m still busy
Yet that doesn’t mean a thing
Without you here
We have work to finish
Please come back

More silence.
Ah well, maybe later
But when will that be?
The years slip by.
So much time
Yet so little

Years pass like days
And now I look back
Wondering
Is the dream is still alive?

Parts of it are
Parts of it not
All seeking to be whole.
The answer, I know,
Is buried somewhere
Deep in my soul.