He sits in silence
Pen in hand.
Mind burning
Like the candle beside him.
But the paper stays blank.
A hundred images, from
A thousand ideas
Chasing each other in play.
But no words are clear enough
To bring them to life.
An hour passes.
Then a second, a third.
Sentences form
But are quickly erased.
Nothing feels right.
Another case of
Writer's Block
Fuels a night of frustration.
The ideas dance
But refuse the restrictions
Of becoming simply
Words on a page.