I miss my old sadness
I miss the emotional whirlwind
I miss when my thoughts and feelings were rampant
I miss the challenge of trying to mend

I’m happy now; all my problems resolved
All of my problems except for one
This problem stems from a life that’s so boring
A life in green meadows and sun

Where are my rainstorms, my blue icy cold?
Where are my soft windy chills?
Where is a life filled with more than content?
I have not my emotional fill

If there were joy and elation, things would be great
But there is nothing but neutral content
Nothing on either side of the spectrum
So shortened are my passion’s extents

I am peaceful, at rest, no problems to speak of
And yet this in itself is distress
My emotions were companions, always there by my side
They were that which I had to express

Passion was the root of creative inspiration
It was the basis of all of my work
Now there is nothing to set art aflame
I have lost my emotional quirks

When I write nowadays, it is boring and dull
It is a trek across flat scrubby plains
I lack the thought needed to give proper dimension
The peace has become horrid pain

And so, with a sigh, I tuck my notebook away
Into the back of a dark, dusty closet
I close the doors on my beloved, and bid it farewell
And lock away my precious deposit.

Goodbye dear writing, goodbye once and for all
Goodbye to my one fondest skill
I cannot say when we shall meet again
Only that it cannot be until I discover new thrill

Farewell to writing, farewell to art
Farewell to all that is love in my heart