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WHEN INSPIRATION FLIES AWAY

When Inspiration Flies Away

When Inspiration Flies Away

The sun goes down, I sit with my pen
In the darkness of my den.

There in the pot is the ink,
All that’s left is for me to think.

So here I am at the table –
Thoughts shaky and unstable,
My nib is sharpened to write
And the paper is white

The nib is in the ink;
The ink, the nib did drink,
Yet the paper remains white.
Only the widening stain is its blight.

Shall I write of flowers –
That withers with the hours?
Or of men who care not for their kind
Planting seeds of evil in their mind?

I know not, so I wait,
While my mind tries to create.

The sun is coming up again –
And still I hold my pen in vain!

Author: admin

I am a member of the WRR editorial team.

  • Arrgh! Writer’s block. How I hate it! I still experience it anyways.

    You’ve pulled another interesting read; one every writer (poet/non-poet) can identify with. Here is my favorite:

    “The nib is in the ink;
    The ink, the nib did drink,
    Yet the paper remains white.
    Only the widening stain is its blight.” —-Vivid, Smooth!

    Oh, I still chuckle at the picture you chose for this post. It surely fits!

    • the picture got me too…thanks for reading

      • My pleasure as always…

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