Writer’s Block

The blank page impersonates my mind.


Empty.

The blinking cursor laughs at me in its pulsing rhythm.
The ideas don’t flow anymore.
They are frozen in my mind, elsewhere,
too far away for me to find them.

The keyboard is silent.
No clattering and clicking of keys,
Making my ideas and creativity appear on a screen
as if it were magic.

The only thing I hear is my own breathing.
Exasperated and sighing,
Frustrated with the world,
And everything in it.









I stare at the screen.
An artist,
Intently watching the blank canvas
Itching to create a work of art


But the ideas don’t flow anymore.
They are off in their own world,
Playing a game of hide and seek
That I just can’t win.