The thin blue lines,
Now empty,
Reaching across the page,
Still empty.
You try to think,
But empty,
Nothing comes to mind,
Just empty.
The feeling spreads,
All empty,
You feel so alone,
So empty.
No more wish to try,
Always empty,
Leaving the open page,
Empty,
but for tears.
Now empty,
Reaching across the page,
Still empty.
You try to think,
But empty,
Nothing comes to mind,
Just empty.
The feeling spreads,
All empty,
You feel so alone,
So empty.
No more wish to try,
Always empty,
Leaving the open page,
Empty,
but for tears.
And so, not empty. :) A poem about writer's block and the frustration.
ReplyDeleteYep. :D It's funny, cause at the time I wasn't having writer's block at all, that's just the poem that wrote itself that night. :)
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