Empty Core

Where are the fingers that could just tap out the thoughts on plastic and transform them into virtual memory capsules? The same fingers that then hide the keys in abstraction?

I now have the lexicon,
I now have the suave.
Can conjure metaphors on demand,
Words have become my wand.

Clarity of thought, lucid prose,
Perfectly placed semicolon;
All weapons primed for action
At the mere hint of any mission.

When I was yet a novice,
With nothing but emotions for battle,
The words were always lacking
And the style, just unbecoming.

The time has passed, and I have trained.

My skill is now ready
To pen emotions for eternity
But now, when I dwell within,
All I find is nothin'.