Writer's Block

June 16, 2016

Be these mere scratchings of a feeble mind?

Scratching, clawing at Imagination’s door.

Never let in, never to find,

Creativity on Imagination’s shore.

Colors dance across the mind’s eye,

Flickering behind lids closed tight,

Crying for attention, never shy,

Yet always keeping out of sight.

How strange to be weighed down,

By something invisible, yet so profound.

Something wrong with this poem?

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