I wrote this sometime last year (I didn't put down the date) about my struggle with writer's block.
Oh how I long
to pick up my pencil
and let words flow
tonight.
How my ears
wish to hear
the lovely scratch
of lead against paper
forming words
tonight.
How my hands,
my mind,
my soul,
long to dance
with pencil and paper
to an eternal tune.
I want this now.
I need it.
And yet
when I try,
it all stops.
I look upon the paper.
Clean white paper
begging me to dirty it
with gray scribbles.
Rather than racing
And demanding it be heard,
My mind has come
To A.
Dead.
Stop.
The desire is useless,
like having a fortune
in counterfeit money.
When will this torture end?
Eating away
at my imagination
piece by hated piece.
Will I ever create like I used to?
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140,268 Literary Works • 673,077 Reviews
this was flowly and sort of musical sounding, but i didn't favor the repitition of "tonight" as the last word in the first two stanzas. it was too redundant and, i'm sorry to say, lacked the effect you were proabably trying to convey. parts i liked:
It's very musical ... you kinda want to sing it!! It's really good 'cause it captures that feeling of desperation and annoyance very well...
I love that!! It's really good, flowing
Good stuff.
I know how ya feel :/