Writer’s Block

At night the words come out to play

Skipping along through my head, as I lay

On the pillow, awake, reviewing the day.

The price I will pay for these words in the light

Of tomorrow—frustration, fatigue, and the fight

Between words and myself that started last night.

In daylight, the words scamper and hide

In my brain, inaccessible, taunting my pride

In occasionally catching them, stemming the tide

Of the thoughts that tease me, dare me to chase

Them, hunting them down all over the place

To write them on paper, thus winning the race.

To those scurrilous words I say, “Taunt me no more!

I’m sleeping tonight; I’ve settled the score

Between you and me.”

I hope I don’t snore.


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