Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

At times the words flow like liquid gold
It seems at times that they’ve been sold
Then there’s the days -I must confess
Where finding them is just a mess 

It’s infuriating and frustrating 
When hand and pen are  waiting 
Knowing soon they will return 
 And extinguish that writers burn

Other days the words are there 
But  combining them to appear 
Causes me to curse and babble 
As I do when I play scrabble 

It doesn’t happen much
But when I loose the touch
The anxiety builds that wall
Makes me anxious to see it fall

One roadblock is the worst 
When  you’ve found the ones of choice
Is an external interruption that almost causes seizure 
It’s short-term writers amnesia

But with all that’s been said
I still keep a clear straight head
For l’m honestly confessing 
Writing’s an honor and a blessing