Writer’s Block

The words won’t come,
Tied as they are by emotion,
Fettered by the bonds
Of my imagination.

And so I wait,
Empty page before me.
With a mind full of ghosts of thoughts,
All running in one direction.

Drifting fragments of phrase,
Tied together in incoherence.
The simplest setting down of sentence
Eluding me like water cupped in hand.

Fluttering bits of half-formed rhyme
Hang misaligned in my mind’s eye,
Yearning towards completion
And straining for becoming.

Still, the page remains untouched,
An unblemished white expanse,
As word, thought, and phrase
Reverberate within my mind.


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