A poem about writer’s block written while I had writer’s block

I have no idea what to write

The pen is dry, the mind a blank

The block in the imagination is real

The world I seek unseen, unheard

My mind’s eye seeks glimmers

A wisp of thought, a drop of words

Shapes that should be familiar

Colors abound beyond my grasp

They flow in streams about me

A painting of the mind uncanvas’d.

The music brings nothing

The Muted Muse sings a void

I am disconnected

Detached

Apart

Blocked

Walled in

Locked out

Utterly Apart from my creations

I sit on the edge of the chasm of my imagination

I look across, and I see it all

Characters clear as flame

Stories and plots staged for a creator

Enticing and teasing strips of ideas

But the bridge is out

This is the curse of Writer’s Block

This is the greatest curse that could be borne

My imagination full to the brim

The mind is empty.

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