Reading – ‘Writer’s Block’
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Paper stares at me its ashen face bleached of ink. Its emptiness a hint that I shan't kiss you any more. Woven wooden fibres, pressed hard and tight, await my nibs caress, but I can't touch you now. Creases - in the corner - like laughter lines mock my aching heart that lives déclassé here. And in the emptiness that's there unwritten are the words, that reverberate, inside my head, but daren't ever be spoken. © Allen Ansell 2022
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
You can certainly see your writing skills in your work. All the time go after your heart.
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