Poetry

A Writer's Nightmare

On the darkest day of December, I felt at peace,
A steaming cup of coffee and a purple diary, I set to write,
The stars are twinkling for once so bright, sitting in the balcony I write about satisfaction and peace.

I crumple yet another sheet of paper and throw it on the side along with the rest of the crumpled sheets,
Scrawling yet again in the diary, trying to raise the invisible block obstructing my words,
I write furiously, shedding all the pent up emotions and set them free.

Good or bad, short or long, none of it matters as long as words flow out,
I look at the sheet and smile, proud that after months I write something; if not worth while, just enough to tackle the block,
Something flashes in front of eyes and vanishes, the inspiration fills me, overwhelms me and I set to write again.

Anger, frustration, emptiness and a sense of loss consumes me, igniting a fire to let the words burst like a volcano,
It cracks, a little at first and it slowly shatters to the ground, the block now destroyed makes me feel complete,
Contentment, satisfaction and a sense of pride spreads all over, destroying the negativity and creating a piece that sets me free.