191. Writer’s Block

On this quiet early morning
I search for words to inspire
A mind blank, making nothing
Fingers empty with high desire

I open the past doors of time
Scratching my mind endless
For lines to arrange in rhyme
A vision lost, lying pointless

I look to heaven for a touch
By senses aroused, patient
To find words elusive, much
A gap wider by the moment

I notice trees standing tall
Frozen as me in silent green
Uninspired, I stare at my wall
Wonder where words have been

I see my coffee lying on table
My patience gone as its vapor
Lost in an aroma, I wobble
A hope to lay my heart on paper

As my fingers itch for a song
Unwritten, waiting on an edge
Behind a veil, hidden for long
My poem, an unfulfilled pledge

I sit here with a colourless paint
On a thirsty, wide open page
Hands frozen, silent as a saint
Words dead in their own cage


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