it used to be easy…
secondary to my nature,
the silent moments, whether forced
or unconsciously happening, produced
a strings of words that sings my soul.
but the days moved along and the empty hours
never did return, it carried away the ease of inspiration.
Quarter-life and the hustling only produced empty spaces,
and the urge to spin thoughts was replaced
by the craving to sleep through sunrises.
Your meaning is portrayed beautifully. I can feel your pain of missing writing…what happens or changes to make it so difficult all of a sudden?