My hand holds the pen;
Poised in the still air above
The plain of white.
I wait for the gallant cry
Of words to come charging to my aid.
I wait,
But they do not come.
I try in vain to send a cry for help,
But silence is my only response.
I set the pen down
And walk away in disgust.
Today is not my day;
Perhaps tommorrow will be.
A contest entry
- Writer's Block by Desdmona.
600 points, ended March 27, 22 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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just perfect. perfect. love this. I am so enjoying these poetries. thank you for sharing these thoughts with us.
fleur pour tu' . L,
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I like this. It's short and sweet and stays right on topic. It's relatable and easy to understand. Well done. Good job and good luck. ~Des
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i liked this poem. it explains how i feel sometimes. good luck in this contest.
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