Writer's Block.

She lifts up her pen, trying, to let out all the words trapped within,

a great escape -

of tears, anger, love and joy, 

spilling out to morph into a symphony.

 

She lifts up her pen, revealing a spot of pristine blue

revealing a small dot, 

revealing nothing. 

She let's out a sigh.

Her thoughts were gnarled into a forest of roses, 

A garden of striking blood red and thorns.

Everything she wanted to shout out to the world,

Everything stirring up a beautiful storm. 

She could not focus on what was around her, 

She could not see, nor hear, nor feel -

but for her fast pacing heart, cold sweat on her face, 

but for the urge to let all inside her free.

There was an unsettling void taking over her calm, 

a black shadow casting over her light.

Her only outlet, her only safe space,

her only friend in the dark world, walking away. 

All she had were the book and the pen, 

All she remembered were her river of words.

Once an effortless flow of emotions and harmony,

taken away at once, 

she hated the void in her soul.

She put down the pen, onto the piece of paper

She put it down, and let herself loose.

A great escape of emotions -

Spilled out, morphing into a beautiful symphony.