Sitting in my chair with silence all around
Pen in hand, wanting to write but can’t get it down
I try and try and try some more
Only to crumple another piece of paper and toss it on the floor
Us writers know this feeling all too well
Our mind shuts itself in a mute, dark cell
Pushing against the bars to try and break free
But our psyche has hidden the master key
This key that holds our ideas in every part of our being
Praying our imagination is at least in safe keeping
Today I might have to embrace the unwelcome quiet
Hoping tomorrow my visions will escape in a riot
- A. Stuebbe
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