I love it when I don't have to think too much about writing a blog post. When Daughter One came home with a pile of poems that she wrote (and with perfect marks to boot) I was very pleased - and amazed - to find one that resonates with writers so easily. The dreaded writer's block. She gave me permission to share, so without further ado here is
Untitled - Sonnet
(I love the irony of a poem on writer's block that is called untitled!)
A never ending struggle for each word.
Plucked from the depths of confusion to see
the blinding light of day. Never been heard
for a reason. Recoiling they soon flee.
Ideas do not breed a masterpiece.
They writhe in agony, fighting for life
which cannot exist. Every thought a feast
that vultures scoop up, with no care for strife.
Every attempt is scrapped and incomplete.
Self-entombed by a message too complex.
Before it’s begun, all thought obsolete,
whatever remains will only perplex.
Time races by staring up at the clock.
Stricken by this plague that is Writers’ Block.