Words

Is it too late, too late to write the words I long to write?
Too many sleepless nights without a word written.
An emptiness inside me that continues to build,
sure one day it's going to crash over me,
and I'll have no words left to say.

Sometimes it feels like I'll never write again,
like I've waited too long to say anything else,
but the words slowly come out, one by one,
each in its own due time without force

and I begin to feel like maybe it's possible,
maybe just maybe not all hope is gone yet
there are still words left for me to say,
words left unwritten waiting to be revealed

if only I could find them, if only they'd appear,
if only I could know what I needed to hear,

inside my mind the words form together,
slowly sometimes yet faster at others,
some are stuck, unwilling to come out

So I wait, and I wait, and I pray I'm not finished
years without writing, remarkable what it can do
to a person who used to write like it was oxygen
necessary and dangerous if I didn't take it

the words carefully unravel themselves,
going around in my mind until I find the perfect fit
and when they're all finished, I feel a satisfaction,
like something worthwhile was done, if only for myself
and as each word is typed, a hope arises inside me,
that tells me there's still time to say what I need to