A Three Legged Dog

[E.A Rumfield]

I feel like my inspiration has left,
perspired right through my pores.
The world doesn't look the same out my window.
It is the same window, even the same view
but the small things have lost their importance.
The birds singing, or dogs barking,
the wind rustling the leaves,
doesn't have the same effect on me as it did even a month ago.
I am strangely empty, vacant.
There is not even an abyss I can draw from.
At least that in something,
an insurmountable nothing but something all the same.
This feeling is like that strange time
only in the summer,
just before sunrise,
when the bugs cease and just before the birds start their games,
there is only the dew and silence.
I think of a mountain, a mountain somewhere
in Antarctica maybe.
A magnificently vast, ranging mountain,
its summit mysteriously cloaked by a passing storm.
There was a time when such things
would have been shrouded in legend and myth.

[Bar22do]

Nostalgic and accepting.... I like this poem, Rumfield. It flows nicely and at moments I think N is a bird himself... I'd suggest to trim just a tiny bit. For ex. you don't need "that is for sure" in L4.
(btw, it should be "their games" (L16).

Thanks for this touching poem!

[E.A Rumfield]

Thank you.

[Jerrybaldy]

It has a desperation of a loss of innocence and caring less, running through it. A longing for when things felt like they mattered and meant something. I can relate to that and enjoyed your putting this into words.

JB

[Delta40]

I feel like your style is a collective of statements put together and while I enjoy reading them, there is often something lacking.

[E.A Rumfield]

I feel like your style is a collective of statements put together and while I enjoy reading them, there is often something lacking.

What do you think I can do better?