Bedeviled

[Makai]

For this poetess
after loosing my words
I check all the cupboards
in my inspiration stations

To find them barren
yawning
empty egg sacks,
producing
nothing viable

Except a few cobwebbed
disappointed moths,
that when released
vagabond away

Hands feel leaden,
the same loss
I felt when my child
outgrew them,
to find his own way
part of me is gone

They say patience
is a virtue,
but I am a sinner
Wicked faults
bedevil me

[PrinceMyshkin]

I appreciated the whole of this for the easy, spontaneous voice, but these lines

Hands feel leaden,
the same loss
I felt when my child
outgrew them

stood out for me. Thanks.