So, Silence Poem by david e golledge

I often want to write
so much that I can't.

It's similar to being
so tired that you
can't sleep.
Tossing,
turning,
frustrated in the dark.
A writer
waits the creative spark.

The essential essence
of the words are felt but
the filtering process
has crashed.

The phrase won't flow.

An information overload
has dammed the
river of thought.

The statements congeal
around my tongue
and refuse to come.
My mind and hand
suddenly dumb.

So,

Silence, a blank page
And a restless night
and every time the brain alight,
shining with the stars.