Never walk through the cloudy mist he says to me...
I am a victim of the times. Back in the day Shakespear had but few words to choose from and they invent me a new one every day.
Writer's block doesn't exist, I'm just a victim of the times.
A painter, I'm sure must sometimes fear his shades as I sometimes fear my words.
How amazing is color on a finished canvas? The many shades that go into a simple Moon and somehow make it more than a circle...
Frost always had his words perfectly shaded in hues only he can create.
A picturesque or gloomy seen? I can't decide which it will be tonight.
Whitman was never short on words nor picasso on color and yet I still lack inspiration.
Inspiration is a funny word, only found where and when you choose to see it.
Maybe today, maybe tomorrow...
Maybe it will be in a note from W.C. "This is Just to Say"
I can see him with plum juice running down his chin.
Well, I guess I'll go with gloomy and see where it takes me.
It won't be that colorful rainbow of words this time...
No, not this time! No happy euphoric feelings, no pot of gold.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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For someone blocked a most lucid write¡! (Me thinks the lady doth protest too much!¡
I have never been stalled with prose… my pen with prose compose and flows in terrible torrents – but rhyme – ah¡! Sometimes the music stops and all I can hear is a blatant beating of a broken drum, a thoughtless noise without rhyme or rhythm… So that I stare, mute, into the cacophonous void, where once was the euphony of soaring birds… The music of the spheres sequestered by the pedantic & prosaic…
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Very well written yet i have been going through writer's block for sometime ow how can i get out of it i am not sure but i will
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