Writers Block,The Birth of the Gift
This beligerant page stares back at me empty and wanting.
Oh, what sinister forces are at work,
to stiffle a brand new pen.
Words refuse to surface,
mocking me as a has-been poet.
Trying my faith to say,
thats its a gift not meant for me
Then;
In the hush of my soul,
rises up a force beyond me.
Now a gentle caress from the unseen,
and the pen leaps to life.
Holy words fill the page in seconds,
thoughts conveyed and the message is born,
from a depth i've never known.
As I look at the verse in tears,
I realize, in humility,
this gift is not my own
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