Like a wilted flower

so is a poet that; loses their passion for the art,

or one that has gone on hiatus for a long time,

affected by writer’s block—

or other factors of life getting in the way,

for even one day,

without a poet attached to poetry,

is a moment of silent absence; and reclusion

or may have temporarily; lost the feeling of inclusion,

and I’m not one to just say—

but rather a poet that knows it,

and has unfortunately happened to,

here and there,

and never seems fair—

for poetry has always been a home,

and a sweet escape; into the world of words,

a dimension or realm of poetic lines,

and would never mind; abiding within the confines,

of the art of poetry—

no place for a poet to be,

no area for the poetic mind to reside,

and felt deep down inside,

as poetry for a poet—

was always meant to feel alive,

occur often and rise,

and poetically shine—

beyond everyday life itself; and through the hard times,

with a poetic smile buried deep within,

and just simply being and not pretending,

so I implore every poet—

to not allow this to happen to you,

if it can be helped,

for the art of poetry—

wouldn’t be the same; if you aren’t yourself,

and without you contributing and crafting,

more into its further existence,

and vital importance—

and the hope and pulse—

to never allow or show,

be blocked or feel off as we know it,

for we cannot allow ourselves to be,

or ever succumb to—

The falloff period of a poet.

PM