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In the silence of late night,
crumpled papers on the floor,
nothing seems to come out right.
I think I can't write anymore.

What paltry ideas come my way
though well begun, just turn to dust.
Muse comes, teases, but then won't stay,
perhaps my pen has clogged with rust.

Is this the start of looking back
to the old days when verse came easy,
before at last I lost my knack?
The very idea makes me queasy.

But eyes now burn from lack of rest.
Tonight, at least, my pen is dead.
I rise deciding it is best
that I just stumble off to bed.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage: 


I thought the whole thing came off very well. The title says it all. You described a writers block very well.

Always nice to see a new face on my page. Sometimes when I can't seem to find anything new to write about I write about not writing. I'm pleased this turned out alright for you lol. I appreciate your dropping by and I'll be sure to check out one of yours when time permits.........stan

author comment

a nice unwritten poem if i can call this that :)

raj (sublime_ocean)


author comment
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