There’s always a time when the words don’t come,
When the sound of the rhythm is nothing but glum,
When the lines don’t flow and the fire is gone
And the light in my head just won’t turn on.

The bad feelings inside just can’t spill out,
Thoughts locked inside want to scream and shout,
Yet the verse won’t form on the blank sheet
Of stark white paper that lies flat and neat.

One word stands out, abandoning flow,
The pace can’t decide if it’s fast or slow,
There’s nothing that can describe the awkward sense
Of a feeling that refuses to break through the defence.

Then along comes hope, an idea, a rhyme,
That can’t wait to get out and spread into line.
The phrases escape from my thoughts finally,
And that is when I am, at last, free.






The End

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