The ideas flowed so effortlessly in a rhythmatic system
The pen was the predator
the pad was the victim
The rush was unquenchable, bringing life to my unspoiled imagination
My sole purpose was to cover this wooden desk with piles of ink filled pages
Ideas streamed, as my movement gains momentum
Coating each page with the soul I put in them
As the climax peaked I slammed into a brick wall,
Like ever word noun or verb just came to a stall
As if the poetic rhyme and rhythm that my mind was given had grown sick and caught all the symptoms
So then the role was switched and ever word i pitched didn't seem to click so left the pad on the table thinking this was it
Accepting my defeat I stood up out of my seat and made use of my feet and walk to the room to lay my head in bed and sleep
Day after day the inspiration was gone my novel of novels will remain undone
getting pass this hurdle may happen for some but as for me ill take my loss and start back at step one
YOU ARE READING
Writers Block
Poetry"So then the role was switched and ever word i pitched didn't seem to click so left the pad on the table thinking this was it"
