Writer's Block

    When the day is uneventful
    And the weather outlook drear,
    Words gather like some phantom mist
    And drifting, disappear.

    Though I know not where they're hiding,
    In the heart or in the brain,
    I know that they are gathering
    And will return again.

    They rise up like souls in torment
    And hover in the air,
    Then ride back atop the daybreak
    To my mind that traps them there.

< Back