Blocked
By Talyn Gray
o-O-o
It would come from my finger tips,
rainbows and bright light
My life had been eclipsed,
this imagery so bright
The drought was never long,
the well was always full;
sloshing, clicking, and singing a song
The voices of my characters, a constant pull
the scenarios and scenes played so clear
My hands were hardly fast enough to get into gear
-o-
But dust now comes from my finger tips,
dry and brittle like winter chapped lips
The light has faded, a dusty weak whisper
the voices thirsty and not as they were
My well has run dry
For my mind used to fly,
and my fingers would touch the sky
But now my fingers are pained and arthritic
A mind once free, now too analytic