Poet's Block
Wand'ring words that never ceasetheir search for home, to give me peace;
I leave a key at my heart's door,
a pen and page inside a drawer
of my roll-top restless mind.
Coursing through my fitful dreams,
meandering through verbal streams;
I face the taunting empty page
that calls to me for something sage,
from a place as yet confined.
And when the words knock at my door,
I sometimes find that they implore:
"Please take us places we've not been,
from chastened heart to cheshire grin;
and let us reward in kind."
"Weave a new and wondrous tale
of sailing ships and love's travail;
arrange us now to turn a phrase,
and lift yourself from this malaise;
with words and thoughts refined."
Opening my eyes, I see
the blank page that stared back at me;
a silent testament of guilt
transforms into a patchwork quilt,
made of verses intertwined.
Reprieved am I yet one more day,
for having found something to say;
but quickly comes a knock again,
and toils renew 'twixt heart and pen;
a new message I must find.
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