My Pen No Longer Speaks

The rose petal now grates abrasive, like 80 grit to oxidized steel.

The sunrise dull and grey, hidden forever behind ominous dark clouds.

The sea lays still, its heartbeat gone, no longer pulling me.

The moon is black in the night sky, like tar, absorbing all light.

The diamonds that once twinkled are now uncut, merely rocks without sheen or shine.

My pen no longer speaks, it’s ink has dried solid, like a heart chiseled from stone.