A pot of ink, with it a quill
Maybe, I think, that is what will
Satisfy my dear little heart
And help create a piece of art
For I just cannot seem to find,
To say that which is on my mind,
Any words, none at all, to write
Though I do try with all my might
Then I take a moment, stop, think:
Possibly it isn’t the ink,
Maybe I am trying too hard,
I may need to let down my guard,
Maybe it’s then the words will flow;
It’s a thought, I don’t really know
It’s prose I truly wish to craft
(Each wish is now a mere draft)
Is this writer’s-prosaic-block,
No sand, no grav’l, but walls of rock?
Maybe I should just get away
Enjoy a sunny autumn day
Then, maybe, upon my return
Out the imprisoned thoughts will churn..


~ Karishma

2 thoughts on “Manoeuvre

  1. Hahaha! Funny how the same thing happens to me. The only difference being I attempt to write poetry and prose happens instead! But yeah, don’t try too hard! The more you try, the greater the block!

    1. I’m trying to get all the random thoughts out now, so that the rest of them organise themselves again. *sigh*
      Here’s hoping (and they’re not high hopes)
      You soon write a poem and I, prose.

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