I gaze at the paper, eager to pen my thoughts,
Blank as a slate, with bewilderment I am fraught.
Words elude me, or is it my feelings that are numb,
In this drunken world, to the stupor have I succumbed?

I reminisce fondly, when my words had flown like a river,
Now they twitch morosely, curdling in my pen that quivers.
I grope into my soul, grappling with blurring memories,
They refuse to be forced out, afraid to see the light of reality.

My paper remains blank, words dying a silent death,
Martyrs to my despair, shrouded in tears of regret.
And I sit in cold stillness, gaping at my friend once so ardent,
Sighing heavily at the silence, and the wordless night that I am going to spend.

I had written this poem a few years ago. As one can guess, I was inflicted with another bout of writer’s block. 


4 thoughts on “Blank

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