I sit here pondering clock ticks,
Hearing the sound of my pen click,
Staring at the lines of a blank sheet,
My heart pounding I can feel the beat,
Mind at a race thoughts everywhere,
At the sheet my eyes burn in stare,
My thoughts I watch the pen stroke,
Every work every sentence I choke,
Why can't I pour them out anymore,
Watching ink spill chilled to the core,
My pen keeps moving across the page,
My emotions can spill I fill with rage,
Outraged paper crunched into my hands,
Writing my mind blocks it bands,
Trash the words paper thrown away,
My emotions, fears, words inside they stay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A good depiction of writers block. I always find autonomous writing works. Where you put words and sentences down on paper by thinking as little as possible, until you end up with an A4 sheet of paper full of disjointed phrases and tangled meaning. From this some idea always surfaces. It is a good poem about not writing a poem.10/10.