It used to be like breathing
The words blew across my page
Windswept thoughts that played and stayed
Forever painted on this stage
And then one day the silence came
Leaving no echoes to be heard
Not even sighs to answer why,
My urge for writing slipped away
Exhale from me, this loss, this ache
Purge the want I have, for tears
Open this void that traps my soul
Resuscitate… my breeze again
Comments
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I love the first stanza. and I certainly identify with this poem. I've been afflicted with the same literary desease this past year. but you have what I think is the cure...just keep writing until it comes to you again.
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Insightful
It speaks of what all writers know as well as what we fear
That the brezzeless time for us is near
That any moment when a word doesn't drop upon our page
We'll freeze in fear of this very stage
But you, alas, released for this write
Have penned enough to raise a kite
Tecohe
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You are not alone in this boat, my friend. Writer's block is always lurking just beyond the next bend in the road on this perilous poetic journey we're on. I've found that your only defense to that scourage is to write. Excellent work my friend.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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Hmmm writers block brings to mind a brick. Mine is the great wall of china...and growing. LOL Thanks Hon though for the encouragement. Warmest Hugs for the visit.
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