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Writer
May 26, 2019
Writer
Blank of mind, pen in hand.
Though use it, I cannot.
Thoughts like, the grains of sand
Many I have forgot.
A vortex of thoughts, live about.
Though use them, I cannot.
To pick and choose, I surely doubt.
My mind, always we fought.
Skilled I’m not, I am told.
Though ignore, I cannot.
Soon I know, my cards fold.
My own blood, all but shot.
Sharing my work, through word and speech,
Though hear it, I cannot.
The answer close, just out of reach.
The things I have so sought.
© Nina F., Roanoke Rapids, NC
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Writing is difficult. Always has been, always will be. It's a struggle. I feel poetry is an easy way to get out of writer's block. It can be so realxing just to write and ryhme. This is a poem that shows my experience being a writer.