Writing Hands

So often lately I have felt lacking in drive.  I would look around and think, What on earth am I doing, and why?  There was no why.  It's been the cause of no small amount of stress in my life over the past little while.  Only recently I realized that my passion is, and always has been, writing.  It's a God-given talent, it's 99% of who I am, and it's all I want to do with my life.  This poem is a self-apology for forgetting about that for a while.

Dear writing hands, this

Is my apology

For your emaciation

Your cruel starvation

From your vivid, wordy fare

Dear writing hands, I

Will not make excuses

I forgot the feeling and sound

Of the pen in my hand

And the letters in my head

Dear writing hands, you

Are deep in my heart

At the core, squeezing

Pumping the blood, rich, dark

That gurgles with whispers of so much to say