Not really a poem, but a series of scattered thoughts as I try to overcome the beast known as Writer’s Block…

The path is white, open and leery
With all your might, lift up the sword
That gives you the power.

Fingers poised, a cacophony of keys

I dance across the empty page
And think:
This is where I will enchant the reader, make them laugh
With my wit and humour
This is where they will weep for the characters
With my stylish, epic prose
This is where they will fall in love
With me

But the words remained lodged in the arteries and veins
Of my fingers
Wrapped in the flesh that encases them
Trapped in the ridges and groove
Of the tips

The open fields are boundless
In my mind’s eye
With bursts of colour and music
They are distorted by the invisible margins
Warped as I attempt to paint them
With words

The pictures never make it to the page
The images do not evoke feelings of love and despair
Instead I am frozen, stuck
Inside the trenches that each letter makes
To become these words

To read something a bit more inspiring about the magic of words and the world they create, check out These Words.

How do you get over writer’s block?

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