Writer's Block
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Leslie Alexis
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My head is tense in thought,
The wheels of imagination spin,
But all they produce is smoke;
As I try to cough up words so true.
It seems that the wells of love have gone.
The rivers dried up, leaving pools of mud;
The remnants of life that was; tries to swim,
But there is no substance for them to move.
As if by omniscient fining, bubbles of hope dies,
And this sensation I have really does stink!
For my pen is full, but with this mind it cannot ink,
Ink the numerous emotions I have locked inside.
The feeling that of love stinging in my throat;
As the desire wells, but there is no way made
For the deliverance of its righteousness.
So I stand fearing that this is the end of my rhyme;
For words, rhymes, and rhythms move in their times,
But they’re unable to see, touch, hear, smell, taste,
Each other. And I fear they’ll never meet again,
And that this represents the death of my pen.
Copyright © 2009 Leslie Alexis
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