Missing poetry

When as a child, I wrote poetry,

An inspiration moved me forward,

Life showed me omens regularly,

My hand worked my mind laggard;

And stories I thought of wars,

Of a beautiful woman but a retard,

Nature and skies said in my ears,

It's your world, it's your boulevard.

I am asked why I don't write now,

Inspirations shown to me around,

Takes no time they say; the Will, how,

Is nowhere around, misery surround,

Love hidden somewhere, somehow,

It needs to be brought out; joys abound,

In the hearts of those, they show;

Love inspires the world to move round.