Currently I'm getting a writers block,
I can't get a thing to write
in that mixed up stock.
It's irritating,
it seems my mind and me aren't mating.
Yesterday I wrote a thousand things,
today my mind and I aren't even having a fling.
What's happening?
Knock, knock.
Why are those thoughts so lost?
(Picture from the net
http://ozatheist.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/writers-block.jpg)
me too, but it'll go. here's something i'd written on it.
ReplyDeleteSeasons
It's that time of the year again now,
light morphs into shadows,
sprinkled in the dirty room.
words seem borrowed, from different ages,
rhythmless, tastelss incoherent blots.
the music died long ago,
alone too, unnoticed.
the leaves have all fallen,
decayed corpses, scattered.
Another age it seems now,
spring.
the lonely tree waits
breathes alone the emptiness
stares in to the empty spaces
the dust of the time gone by,
the eyes old and frozen,
no longing, but it waits
it waits.
It will, it will.