Block the Writers

By
This ominous body,
It lay before me.
It roars and it thrashes,
A great, impassable sea.

All that I desire
Resides on the other shore,
Their contents unknown to me
But their promise, I adore.

These ideal thoughts,
These unthought ideas,
Blocked by a great darkness.
How can they be reached?

I turn the page,
Prepared to brave what lies ahead,
Put pencil to paper,
And the sea has now fled.





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