I stopped wanting to feel what I’ve once felt in the past
The gurgling in my loins has calmed at last
A steady stream now runs in its place
But a series of rocks continue to impede its pace
Hardening walls are building within
Tightening the space where the birds could sing
They flap their wings with intense fury
And peck on the walls, bleeding before a passive jury
Viscous fluids reach their solid form with age
Growing rougher and drier at that stage
A softness in the past they did pocess
A harshness in the present controls the mess
An Artist at Heart 