I sit here waiting for hands to type;
something meaningful; not just hype.
The clock on the wall; it goes tick- tock;
get past this thing; this writer’s block.
No words come forward; how can that be?
This is not common place; for one like me.
Most times my brain is filled with words.
It seems its turned; to gray matter curds.
I look 'round for some inspiration;
None found; Isigh in exasperation.
Though not enlightening; or profound;
This poem reflects a common ground.
If reading this; my apologies to you;
its writer’s block; what is one to do?
Perhaps by morrow; I will be renewed;
and proper writing ; wil be pursued.