Wednesday, 5 January 2011



tonight the hours creep by undisturbed
by sleep
there was a time when unwritten words
might wake me
buzzing in my night time brain
begging to be penned
no more, fine words no longer my excuse 
for insomnia
for that once unrelenting fountainhead 
of inspiration
lies neglected, dry as the desert sands
devoid, desperate
struck down and bled strangely dry
by writer's block
a humiliating state of self indulgent lack for the wordspinner
left wordless

Copyright © 2004-2011 by Eryll Oellermann

1 comment:

Camlin said...

when you write a poem about being blocked, it suggests to me that words are about to flow again....