A poem about writer’s block.

drip, drip drip,
waiting for a thought to come.
Waiting for a song to become.
drip, drip,
pen and paper in hand,
you can hear the band,
drip, drip, drip,
the cello’s are tuning,
the violins, too,
the drummer is shuffling,
whispers from the crew,
drip, drip,
but I’ve got nothing to say.
the lights are dimming,
drip, drip,
the curtain is open,
the paper’s still blank,
the stage is dark,
crowd starts to think,
drip, drip, drip, drip
a darkened set,
I’m standing on stage,
any moment,
the lights will engage,
the director’s watching,
baton in the air,
my paper’s empty,
there’s nothing there.
drip, drip, drip
baton drops,
the lights turn on,
the pianist starts
to play their song.
I let go of my fear of
what can go wrong.

A poem of love,
inspiration, above,
look around and see,
you and me,
the fear can entrap you
this isn’t a test,
let go, have fun and let
your pen do the rest.


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