The Writer’s Labyrinth
The blank page stares, a quiet foe,
Whispering doubts only writers know.
Ink flows like rivers, then halts, runs dry,
A battlefield between heart and eye.
Words wrestle fiercely, resist their place,
The perfect line plays a cruel chase.
Yet, in this chaos, a spark ignites,
A fragile draft born of sleepless nights.
The world of publishing looms ahead,
A labyrinth where hope is bred.
Knocks on doors met with silence cold,
Dreams of stories left untold.
But still, we rise, we shape, we mend,
Each rejection, a stubborn friend.
For in these trials, the truth we find:
Creation's joy sustains the mind.
Though the path is steep, and shadows long,
The pen persists—it finds its song.
For in the struggle, writers become,
The voice of many, the chosen one.
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Author:
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Offline) - Published: April 8th, 2025 07:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: KTay
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Comments3
A poem that speaks for the writer and we have all felt what it expresses. The challenge of the empty page and the battles of ink spilled. A wonderful write
Hello,
For me this poem speaks about the many sided path of the writer. Sometimes a forest other times a clear vale and a labyrinth indeed. Only the writers pen, the ink and the muses know how to find the connecting lines. Sometimes walking a labyrinth is a life work. I enjoyed the read! Greetings and blessings,
R
great write
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