Here’s an old one that I found saved in a file labeled ‘Scribbles’

I'm tired.
I'm wordless. The busyness of the days is heavy.

I can't just write it down
And watch the fears,
worries,
sorrows
Drip away with the drying ink.

Today they're too real.
They're too heavy
too clingy
Too all absorbing and mind-numbing.
Too Life-Interfering.
I've forgotten the taste of peace.

It's like trying to force a poem to rhyme.
Carefully creating the perfect meter
with counted cadence and crafted chorus.

But it doesn't come to life.
It doesn't really mean anything.

Empty words on an overfilled page.
A day filled to the brim
With meaningless actions.
Words without Faith are dead.

But in the busyness
The soft voice still whispers to those who will listen.
"Be still.
Wait on the breath of life."

The dry bones stir.
The empty words, edited, rattle with hope.