Writers Block

Blank pages stare back at me waiting for my mind to pour its' heart out. I grab my pen, throw on my headphones wait, wait for my mind to give my heart words that need to be written. I make my mark, withdraw my hand, I stare. This is all you see _____ Months have passed since words have been written, my mind is hesitant to reveal what my heart tries to conceal. Music plays in my ears in hopes of encouraging my mind to find its hidden words. I stop, quote Jonson in my head an English dramatist & poet... "Suns, that set, may rise again But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. (Volpone) Yet my mind still remains empty. Perspiration runs down my face, my temperature rises, frustration runs through my veins. I try yet again I quote Apollinaire in my head a French poet... "Les souvenirs sont cors de chasse Dont meunt le bruit parmi le vent" My anger grows My mind weary My eyes tire. As night falls, & its all over my pages still remain empty