I walk left, I walk right, I walk in wandering circles,

Thoughts go wayward–people, things, memories and sundries flash intermittently, 

But inspiration stares barefaced sans a beacon of light,

My palm crumbles the bleached paper,

How I scream helplessly…

Writer's block

Revisits.

As I toss the pen, ink spills in fountains of chaos,

Banging my head I yearn to awaken my subconscious mind,

After a long pregnant pause neurons fire with might,

Words manifest into a visual feast,

My possesed fingers write

With renewed

hope.