Bound by A Love I Am Unable to Interpret
A poem on a writer’s block
Silent is my room, where ink and leaves choir;
Words once stud and sturdy lack power.
Inspiration fettered and tucked in a cage,
Bound by a love I am unable to page.
Each blank page in the hospitality of silence,
A heaviness in my spirit rends my wrist essence.
A sweet irony occurs in my heart and head,
They brim with a swirl in my bed.
Yet the ink refuses to leave its bind,
For perception’s fatigue
Chores my mind.
My voice is caught in the stifling league.
Time tickles its way, being its terrific self,
I sit with a pen in my hand,
Begging myself
To beat the creative band.
Words find other places to go,
Cheering my tongue,
Befriending my head and heart to hoe and sow,
Tightening the clamp like Gotterdammerung.
Oh, hatch words out of this silence,
Let the words flow in their reputation and essence.
Find me the key to unlock this door,
Forbid the leaves’ vacuum, tap their lay to wake.
