My pen hovers over paper;
the words fail to write.
Fingers paused upon keys;
not a thing to type.
Creativity. like they say,
has fled my mind.
void of all imagination,
nothing to bring to life.
Writers block,
the devil, a sin.
I fell like I may never
write again.
Perhaps a pause;
a break,
to whip my mind back into shape
to break the dam
holding my thoughts in
and keeping them off of paper.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
Puisihuh, surprised i am actually publishing this. a bunch of poems i write that dont rhyme or sound good or anything, so there.
