Nothing Left to Say When Creativity Goes Away

What is it I'm supposed to say?
When words elude me
when images slip away?
What is it I'm supposed to do,
when creativity dwindles
and the world fails to give hope
Where did the world go
in which I spent endless hours,
the world I spent dreaming up?
That world I imagined seems so far
Work has separated me from myself
I know not who I am
nor where I am at home
The place I called my own
has slipped away; pushed aside
by corporate monsters who crush
and curse ingenuity, innovation
The retail villainy that prides itself
on sameness, breaking individuals
of themselves though it's no disease.

So what can I do?
What is there left to say?
These words evaded me too long
The place I was at home in my mind
fades away, the glimmer of hope dashed.
What is it I'm supposed to say?
I give you a fortnight, no more.
I give you the smallest bit of my soul
and no more.
Oh corporate mongrels,
you cannot steal my spirit,
I remove myself from your pit.
I give you but a fortnight, no more.
This is my farewell, my revelry
My song will return to my mouth
once your hands are loose from round my neck
and my images no more will slip away!

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011