Thoughts struggle to escape,
Emotions lay supressed.
I was gifted ten slender,
Sorrowful fingers, now rusted.
They toil hard, to let words
seep, but remain distrusted.

Oblivious to reality,
Ignorant to sanity,
The mind remains blind.
Soars devoid of time, space,
and the human race,
As these Ten chase behind.

A doleful life,
Of tender musings.
Which wish to reach,
Those who might listen.
A secluded wait,
Of a forlorn dream.
Which rests in peace,

I struggle to understand the concept of a writer’s block.