It's funny
I'm writing about
Not writing.
I hate the feeling
When i have to struggle
To make my pen dance
It's choking
When words no longer
Come easily
You wonder
Do you still got it
Has your muse deserted you
How long will it be
You feel locked out
Wonder why paper has locked its doors
Days eat into weeks
The weeks fatten into months
You can't help but feel lost
Lost in yourself
You console self
In knowing the
Waves always hit the shore
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem