Poem Number Three, and Author is now suffering from crippling self-doubt

 Poem Number Three. "Dry."

The usual melodic cacophony is missing

I’ve become so used to

The background noise

Silence is unnerving

Grave and solemn

Disconcerting

I find myself preferring the 

Noise to the tense

Silence that some call peace

Those people are not artists

We fill the empty spaces with color and life

Silence drains it away

I want to pour words and color and music

Into the gray void

I want to hear it sing