The blank page lies accusingly,
Empty lines marked out in grey.
Not a word on it has been written,
But what is there to say?
‘Write on me!’ the page demands,
The white space calls to be filled,
But for now inspiration has been killed,
And lies silent before the screaming page.
No poems of love or anguish or rage
Blossom across the virgin sheet.
What is there to write about when one is ensnared,
And yet cannot one’s captors meet?
Still that page lies before me,
Asking to be defiled,
So here, here’s another poem,
So the page can join the towering pile.
Not too much to say, really. I think the poem speaks for itself – I’m guessing everybody’s suffered from writer’s block at some point. Fortunately, my blog’s wide subject matter allows me to evade this by just writing about writer’s block.
I hope that you enjoy the poems,
The Hapless Neo-Romantic