Writer’s Block

A muted mind upon a block
No words abound to e’er unlock
A body sat, and lain, and strode
A path which fails to crack life’s code

O’ cursed be this silent scorn
As from this soul no dreams are born
A darkened room, unlit tonight
Peace too loud and pain too bright

Thoughts are lost, this heart is dead
Gifts of love and desires fled
A wandering soul alone in space
Desperate tears without a face

Lips with words that no-one hears
Set alone with naught but fears
But as this ends, in sight, now nears
This perilous fog you see, now clears

A man in black, who dons a hood
And in cold veins, no poet’s blood
But as a silent, broken clock
This head still rests upon a block