Writing Block - Poem
I have a story I've been working on
The flow of thought has come and gone
The ideas don't move and words don't write
I can't get out anymore tonight.
It's been three weeks since I put words to page
Twenty one days, yet they seem like an age
An eon of stale thought, no creativity flow
Where oh where did my imagination go?
I think I left it on the desk at work,
Maybe it was vacuumed by some uncaring jerk?
Did I leave it in my shorts to be washed?
Or was it in that meal I just flushed?
I watch TV, and laugh at the comedy
In my heart I'm crying, at mental tragedy
The words just don't move, don't come out
Someone turned off my creation spout.
I found a picture today, of a quarry in Maine
The huge rock I saw embodied my pain
How can myself a writer be claimed?
But I knew my creativity would come again.
I just have to wait, to be patient I must
And rushing back to me it would come, I trust.
My pen sits dormant on my desk, gathering rust
Over all but a tiny poem, my insight has fussed.
And these words do flow, their meaning true,
I hope they help me, and also you too.
Try something different, it's strange, I'm sure
But you'll be writing again, for real, for sure.