Wordblock

My words have left me. Disembarked from the wrong platform, and have hastily become a distant memory. When shall my thoughts return? That once so delicately graced my tongue, and consorted with my hand to pen it so. To where shall I wonder? Barren of verse and prose; now disposed virtues. Must I craft asylum in a foreign land? It is not words that betray, but silence. For it lends no comfort, nor offers expression, but lingers like an ill-gotten nuance. Oh words, value your mortal vessel and return. Omit the distance that separates us so, and eagerly scribe again within mind and satchel.