The Walls of Writer's Block

A writer's block is empty;

A hollow prison cell.

The walls clearly define

A claustrophobic's hell.

The mind is trapped inside.

Limits are the walls.

Four borders and a ceiling,

In case any idea falls.

Throwing ink around

Into nonsense stains.

Graphite powdered fingers,

Begging for cleansing rains.

The walls are a souless dark:

An eternal starless night.

Waiting for morning dawn

And inspiration's light.

Reviews

[Pugsly]

My news feed has the best timing ever, I can't finish the first three chapters of Divide and in my distracted ADHD-ness I'm procrastinating by staring at random websites until I get annoyed and force myself to write again. This was the first thing I saw on my news feed when I came back to the page. My only disagreement is that it's not always empty sometimes it's so full of stuff that you don't know what to do with it or how to organize or even write it down because nothing seems to work. That's what I'm going through now mixed with a lot of nothing. I have nothing but there's something there and no matter what I do it's crap. I enjoyed your poem though despite my random nitpick.

[Valette]

This is very good. You certanly have a good rythem and rhyme to your words, and the way you put those words together was very meaningful. I loved the metaphor of the block as a room, where the walls are stained with nonsense ink. Reminds me of some really annoying points when I've needed to write, couldn't, and wanted to throw something in frustration as a result.
Wonderful work

[Emily Rae]

Deep and thoughtful

[ImagineItAll]

This is incredible! It's a perfect description of the hell of writer's block. I loved it! I am adding this to my library!