Michael Biondi - I Thought It Was Writers Block...

This pens ink has ran dry and there is not a pencil for miles. These letters lay upon spiteful keys; they appear as if they’ll be stuck for a while. These never-ending roads tightly tie my tongue as this map swears it’ll stitch my lips… So how will I be able to tell of love and how am I supposed to kiss? Stuck silent but moving so fast; the momentum distorts my eyes. I cannot observe my surrounding but I can hear my hearts deafening cries. It’s a scream for the urge to spill words, to put them together in poetry and relieve a boy from his trembling hands so I can calmly write for the world to see. This is an over dramatized metaphor, for the simple term “writers-block” as if someone took my mind tonight and dressed it in chains and locks. I think this long ride has created nothing but the mindless miles away from home. And when I thought I couldn’t write tonight, it was the exact moment I finished this poem.Michael Biondihttp://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-thought-it-was-writers-block/