Scribbler Barricade

March 5, 2012
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The ink in my pen is withholding
This feeling is a dam stopping my words from flowing
Imperfect sentences call for my remolding
These words on the page, I have no idea where they are going
The phrases get jumbled and tangled
Tearing at my hair I frown and erase
I get so mad I want to be strangled
I rip the page up and Im left with a new blank space
The words I long for hide in my pen, confined
I pray for my writing to reappear
For it is all I have ever enshrined
My loss for words is really quite queer
Suddenly, like a flash flood my concept is in sight
I grab my pen and with a sigh I finally begin to write

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