Blocks

My pen is scribbling 
I don't know what
my mind is cluttered 
and filled to the top
and all the scribbling adds up to naught
for my pen is etching in stone.

If I hold a brick
and swing it round
and smashing my brains
upon graveled ground
would, perhaps then, the words freely flow?
And release my eerie silence.

My mouth is open
an empty hole
for there is no breath 
or sound to control
and my tongue wags like a worm on a hook
trying in vain to break free.

Yet the blocks are there,
solid and square
always ready to stop and impair
the words that would otherwise 
dance 'cross the page
but have not the chance to break free.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.