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Writer's block.
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It really was going well,
when the creative crab
crawled into her shell.
For she felt it on her perch rock,
the tremors from the rising tide
and the tidal wave of writer's block.
Perhaps it was not her chance,
to rest long under sunny skies
and pen ripples on which fantasies dance.
She should not have lazed on lucky time,
should have scribed her tale when she could
for now she cannot write a line.
YOU ARE READING
PerceptioN
PoetryNo despair. No depression. Some fun. Some PerceptioN. A collection of a few little products of my boredom. My best work is in the later chapters. ... Highest rank - #169 in poetry - 5/5/16
