Where once was laid an ink-soaked quill
Now void of presence, stories, and time
Yet, with thoughts to write, but lacking will
I refrain from the effort, on emptiness dine
My heart, it wishes to spew forth verse
But alas, the mind it takes no flight
Here I stand, for no better nor worse
Agape at the tools viewed there under light
To take of the seat of wooden support
Or lean on the desk so upright and waiting
I find not the words, no lingual rapport
While my mind echoes strong, still hesitating
Yet, know in my heart I have something to say
But I know not of subject, to pen you a verse
Then here I will stand and remain here all day
Or die of this block, whichever comes first
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Comments6
Ohh, just write any old rubbish, like I do in my 'humour' genre poems! lol.
Me too O.
I don't even have to empathise - just am in that state most of the time.
Oh so well writ here.
I hear you D D.
Maybe you concentrated too much on the perfect rhyme, she says with a frown lol 🤣 wonderful poem I'm not going to believe for.one second that you may ever suffer writer's block. 💖
Thank you, I really appreciate you saying that, but yes, I suffer from that some times.
Well....if I had writer's block, this would certainly open up the floodgates of poetry for me!! Very nice!!!
Writer's block can be a pain, for sure. Thank you!
Thanks Michael Hzugman for bothering to respond when I didn't even empathise.....LOL
If this is what you write about when you have nothing to say Michael I cannot wait to read your words when you have something to say.
Andy
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