Writer's Block

These days,

I struggle

and stammer

and search for the words

to say what I feel.

But the words don't come.

 

These days,

my oldest and dearest friend--

my art,

my creativity,

my song--

it has left me

and I am all alone

while the words don't come.

 

These days,

I flounder about

in a sea of

inarticulation,

wishing for a raft

of inspiration

as I sink into

such desperation,

for I feel that

my gift is gone

because the words don't come.

 

I scrawl these lines

on a tattered page

over the remnants

of a thousand poems

once started

and then erased

as the flash of light disappeared

around the corner

of a writer’s block.

And still the words don't come.