A Writer’s Nightmare

They call this thing ‘writer’s block’

When words come out as a shock.

There is no rhyme scheme anywhere

And all I see is facial hair.

The thoughts are stuck, trapped and tied

And the beauty seems to have dried.

Not actually, for it’s just colder,

And I no more am the beholder.

The pen moves without any grace,

And of decent writing, there is not trace.

Spellings seem to go hay-wire

And I seem to quickly tire.

Eyes locked onto the pen and pad,

I feel immense gloom and sad.

When, oh, when will I write again

With that same feel and lots of pain?

This question today I cannot answer,

For as of now, I’d much rather be a dancer.