Jayel Kirby

Writer’s Slump

 

 

A scratch, a scribble,

A pen to nibble,

And then to write some more.

I feel, I know,

I try to show,

To express is such a chore.

 

The words, the rhymes,

A thousand times,

They never sound quite right.

A morn, a day,

Just thrown away,

Then restless through the night.

 

I think, I dream

A million things

That I struggle to write down.

A rule, a book,

Where may I look?

Where are the answers found?

 

I warmth, a light,

A pretty sight,

Sometimes are hard to share.

A dream, a thought,

A talent sought,

A skill so very rare.