Guilty from April to August

From April to August
Where have I been?
Certainly not here
Not with paper or pen
Waiting for words
Wanting to write
Putting words together
In a form that's not trite
Words of emotion
That could fill an ocean
But losing their way
From mind to pen
And then to paper
Lost in time
For not finding rhyme
And for having no reason
Feeling ever so guilty
For committing a crime
Of not writing
A kind of writers treason
Being ever so guilty
From April to August