poem about flow and writer's block

[axeslade]

Written after reading a prompt at Writer's Digest



'Flow....or lack thereof'

A perfect place
Where all the words come
No stumbling for ‘hypocrite’
Or something you’d know any other day

No dashing for the dictionary
Or hitting spell check
No ridiculous dialogue or wasted scenes
All clicking into place

You don’t notice hunger
Or the fact it’s three a.m.
Nature’s call and the Sand Man’s chant
Fall upon deaf ears

And then-
Suddenly-
……
Nothing

Mid paragraph
Mid sentence
Mid word
It stops

Growling
Snarling
Begging the muse
For something

That just
Won’t
Freaking
Come

And even though you’ve written ten pages
Of pure perfection and grace
You stomp off to bed snarling
‘I’ll never finish this’