A Writer’s Prayer

I’ve come to you in humble praise,
Upon my knees I stay,
I’ve tried to write in my own ways,
But often in my brain,
Depression comes, and then it goes, and though some folks do say,
My writing it so pleases them, my efforts though in vain.

At least it seems that way to me,
I’ve tried to shake these thoughts,
They say, I must improve you see,
The only way, write more and more, and yet it seems for naught.

These thoughts they fog my brain so bad,
This writing gig is tough,
I’m writing but I’m writing sad,
My words don’t seem enough.

Each day these feelings bring me down,
They hit and persecute,
In floods of apprehension, I drown,
I’m always in pursuit

Of something I have longed to do,
So many years ago,
I yearned to always write, and you,
Have guided me just so.

But now the pain it grows inside,
I need your strength and wisdom,
No longer can this pain I hide,
I’ve lost the writer’s vision.

I’ve always thought to count on you,
To give me strength and courage,
And fill my head with stories true,
Those poems and songs you furnished.

You gave me things to write about,
It came as second nature,
And then you set me free without,
A single thing on paper.

And yet, for months and years, I wrote,
But then one day I stopped,
These troubling thoughts they did emote,
Reasons to adopt,
Another life where a written word,
Wasn’t used to just create,
Lifetimes of stories in my head,
Were gone, wiped clean my slate.

As miserable as I was those years,
I always knew I could,
Come back to writing, shed my fears,
I knew I could, I would.

When I came back you held me so,
And promised me anew,
That you would once again give me a go,
My guide, I trusted you.

So here I am on bended knees,
Confessing what’s become,
I’ve lost the will to write to please,
I fear I have succumbed,
To all the darkness in my brain,
Uncertainty and doubt,
Wrapped around so tight this chain,
Of turmoil firm and stout.

Here on this beach, I scream aloud,
I know not wrong or right,
A proud man I was, now bowed,
I’ve lost the will to write.

Please help me now, I need you so,
To give me back my words,
Inside my head please make them flow,
Whatever be your terms.

I can’t survive if I don’t write,
Please give me things to say,
I pray to you, I’m here contrite,
Fill me with thoughts today.

If I should die and ner more write,
Please tell them all I tried,
I so longed for the writer’s life,
But always was denied.

Let’s keep in touch: paul@pgbarnett.com

© P.G. Barnett, 2019. All Rights Reserved.