Writer's Block

Trembling hands,
Dizzy mind,
Sweaty palms,
Heavy eyes.

Stressful soundless sleep.
Mind awakes, slowly.

My hand beholds my pen,
I write random reflections.

Clear, empty, wordless, thoughtless mind,
Repeating thoughts.
A thesaurus cannot help cure these repeating thoughts.

Thought. Thought.

Got it!

I rationalize, speculate, and conjure up new words to use.
Agony, treachery, torture of writer's block.
A scrumptious language I must soon learn.

Pitiful procrastinating perversion of the mind.

My cranium, bolted into my writing.

My thoughts,
Mailing themselves away from my mind.
No return address.

Well, what good am I as a postmaster of thoughts.

I try to manually think.

Think. Think.

Maybe...

What if I just stopped writing.

All of a suddenly stopped.

No more thinking.
No more thought process.
No more jumbled, good for nothing, use of words.


Exactly!

I stop writing.

I look out my window, noting the beautiful landscape of the world outside.

I made a pact.
I have to keep it.

I cannot write.

Oh, but the rolling hills and gently sloping--

Shut up, mind!

I'm through, done with.

I will never make it as a--

The rays of the sun stroke the land beneath.

The lakes and rivers nearby calmly flow, like the thoughts entombed deep within my mind.

That's it!

I must write...

The hills, the rivers and lakes, the valley - now, THAT is where I belong.

My mind becomes fruitful, offering a plentiful harvest of thoughts - many, many thoughts.

Stretching over the barren lands, through the trees, across the ocean to the ends of the world.

No mind like mine. No mind exactly the same. No mind as sublime as anyone else's.

Copyright © 2008