Writer's Block

She awaits

the rise of the moon

when the call of the wild

imbues creative energies

waiting to be set free.

The notebook paper

stares back at her

naked, a desolate wilderness

desperately longing

to be clothed

in artistic garb.

Her pen

a broken instrument

with which she holds on for life

yet falls dead within her fingers

and the paper sits bare, alone

clinging to nothingness

devoid of essence.

With the slow demise

of her cerebral fashionista

the paper seems familiar

as it mirrors the blank corridors

of her mind.

Sanitized by it's emptiness

both mind and paper

And the silence is deafening.

A quiet oasis begging

for the wind to breathe life

into this mindless desert,

yet the wind stifled

and her thoughts stand still

going nowhere.

Though enticing as it seems

this recycled slab of wood pulp

lies undistinguished

a bare bones form

without meaning,

just as her mind

sits unknown

in skeletal remains

without image.

And she writes.


Ratty said…
I think I have these feelings to some extent every day. So far I've been lucky most of the time, and can at least write something in the end.
zorlone said…
I can see the frustration! he he he! I hope I would not be in that place.
Ratty - Yeah having these feelings is not fun but I look at it as a challenge. Thanks for stopping by.
Valerie David said…
It's a perfect irony that such beautiful words could be written about not having any words. This was exquisite, and totally captures that feeling of isolation and desperation when the words just won't come.
Zorlone - Thank God that frustration is now gone :)

Valerie David - Thanks, it brought me out of my writer's block.
RNSANE said…
You speak for all of us, Jo, who arrive at this
place, wondering if we are ever going to ever break free and become creative again. I love this!

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