Writers Block
mental constipation.
pen strains against paper
as i close my eyes
and imagine the inspiration
of nature -- a dewy petaled
flower glittering in early light,
a tall waterfall rushing, a
vertical river in the trees --
flowing through me, out
as words beautiful enough
to be spoken eloquently
confidently, vibrant enough
to leave lasting marks
on the souls of all
who hear.
but nothing.
not even a fart,
a gassy haiku.
not one.
must feed my mind
better things.
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