A silent scream in the dark of the night,

A silent shout in time.

And what can this lonely poet do?

But sit and write down another rhyme.

Each new rhyme has a story to tell,

Each new verse a book of his life.

And the pen dries out, the candle burns down,

And dust settles, the sign of his strife.

What relief for this lonely soul?

What can make his heart unbreak?

Will he heal or will his pain

Cause him his own life to take?

The world is black to his numbed soul.

He rhymes no more of joy.

Instead he weeps and imprints his darkness,

No more the innocent boy.

What life is there for this poet now?

He sighs and hangs his head.

He knows his poems will not be the same,

For inside his soul is dead.

Copyright © Catriona Elizabeth Mowat 2006