Replacement Therapy

I used to write songs,
But I don't feel like it anymore,
Or maybe just not right now.
If I'm being honest,
I'm not sure they were all that good,
To begin with,
So,
No loss.
But maybe,
I just dont know anything anymore.
Creating something,
Out of nothing,
With rhythm and melody,
From a small buzz inside the head,
Feels like magic.
An overwhelming rush.
It was everything,
But my feedback loop is broken.
I can't hear the muse.
I've lost touch with the spark.
And my fingers,
Once so reliable,
Have forgotten all the right chords.
But maybe,
That's not important anymore.
So,
I write poems instead.
Which is much the same,
Because a poem is really just a song,
A song without the tune.
Or maybe it's the other way 'round.
And sometimes,
It is still like magic,
Words coming from the mists of my mind.
And I wonder,
Are these words mine,
Or am I merely the antenna?
Regardless,
Whether it's one or the other,
I still don't honestly know,
If they're any good.
And it doesn't matter.
The only thing that matters,
If I'm being completely honest,
Is catharsis,
The lightning strike of creativity,
The purging of inner demons,
The airing of mental laundry,
Radom thoughts,
Coalescing into ideas,
On paper,
Or in the cloud,
Yes,
The cleansing of the soul.
And if that means a song,
Or if it means a poem,
Maybe it doesn't make a difference,
And that's more important than all else.

3-31-19