The Poet Who Lost Her Poetry

I was once a poet,

And I couldn't help but show it.

A sort of beauty in words I blew.

I breathed in the pride of it and

If you could do it, you would too.

Until one day his eyes met mine,

And I forgot to rhyme.

Oh, how I would wander for words.

As if wandering for a shelter, I were a bird.

All else in my mind would fade

And the memory of him alone would shine.

Let alone poetry I couldn't tell dollar from dime.

Make no sense anymore, the clocks or the time.

Is it now six or is it already nine?

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Where is the gift of my poetry

That I would once compare to the fineness of wine?

Is it now stale and tasteless, or is it just as fine?

I can barely tell anymore, if it's a curve or a line.

Help me, someone, I'm convinced I'm losing my mind.

Where do I look for them now?

Where do I find the eyes of my mind,

Without which it has become blind?

I desperately traveled the ends of the Earth,

But my poetry I failed to find.

It is only when I meet them again dare I realize,

All amount of my poetry I have lost in his eyes.