a poets enemyA Poem by marieit seems that when i try to write nothing turns out good i sit forever with this pen awaiting words to take flight but it seems my hand is wood and will never write again it just rests and waits then when i give up and put it all away something brilliant just springs up and by the time i have paper this poem just says later i growl i scream this mind is so mean so i just write what little i remember an impossible word this little thing seems for when i try my mind wipes clean leaving nothing but a flickering ember © 2012 marieReviews
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6 Reviews Added on November 15, 2012 Last Updated on November 15, 2012 Author |