Writer's Block
     By Ryan Rancatore

Evil and motionless, the blank page scowls
The pencil tip stays sharpened, as the page awaits my thoughts
But these thoughts do not break free
From mind...to hand...to page
They are trapped in a suffocating net
Dying before ever appearing in the form of written words

Great ideas remain in my head, lost in a maze of dead ends
The page remains vacant
A deserted, barren desert, begging for rainfall

On the freeway from brain to hand, thoughts run into traffic
A stalled thought slows others
A six thought pileup delays traffic for hours
My light never turns green, or even yellow
So my great thoughts never appear on paper

My ideas are stuck in quicksand
My opinions wear cement shoes
My ideas are birds that can't fly, fish that can't swim
My brain is an Olympic sprinter with a broken leg

But maybe...
Someday, my light will turn green
My fish will swim, my birds will fly
The rain will fall for days
And my ideas will burst though the finish line
And onto the paper

...Maybe, they just did

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Poem Copyright © 1998 Ryan Rancatore

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