Writer Block

Steady were the hands of the writer

His mind lost in a trance of endless dreams

Sweet were his words and cunning was his tongue

He lived not for the fame or the money

It was his duty to write

To release the unopened parts of his mind

He wished for the day that peace would come to him but it wasn’t this time

Drip…drip…drip goes the ink blot

His mind now blank and distraught

A creaking comes from the window; the crows have come to play

Whispers through the hallways, foot steps from behind

The writer is not wanting, for now might be his time

He hides his work and blows out the light

The foot steps quicken in the shadows of night

He listens and breathes but to his surprise

A warm arid breathe has come from inside

The lights have come on and the creaking has stopped

He pulls out his pen and attacks the blot

Dragons and fairies all in one stroke

His mind is all clear and the story is told

Now he can sleep  

Writers block is no more.

Author's Note

ignore grammar issues.

Reviews

[Bhumi]

Loved it - I do not know much about poetry but can recognize a good poem when I read one.

Thank you for sharing this

[Jujubee_:]]

I love it, very nicely written. You did great on this hun :]

[deeps]

His words cunniung at his toungue...Love that part. This is very well written. Love the flow. very well written

[Savannah]

LOVE IT.