Writer’s Block

I sit with a mind of no thoughts,

A mind void of inspiration,

A mind in which things are all tied up in knots,

A mind unable to produce any great creation.

Some moments my mind feels incredibly awake,

Full of thoughts, emotions, inspiration, dreams.

But more often than not, I experience a deep ache,

The emptiness makes me want to burst at the seems.

Thirty days have passed me by,

Yielding nothing but blank pages.

The ink in my pen long ago grew dry,

My mind trapped in the largest of all cages.

It’s as if the ideas, too, are there,

Locked in the cage, inaccessible though existing.

They look me in the eye, an intimidating stare.

Release from the cage they are persistently resisting.

I feel them occasionally rising within me,

But they refuse to make themselves known,

I am never able to fully see,

These ideas, though within me, are never to me shown.

I sit with a mind full of thoughts,

A mind full of inspiration,

But these thoughts are tied up in knots,

And I am defeated by frustration.