Writers Block
Playing with words like a child with blocks
Shaping, building, some towering expression
of the urge to create, to learn.
Dropping them to crash, tumble,
bounce across the hard wood floor
And lie there
inert and unfeeling
on the soft rough carpet of opinion.
Speak to me, I cry
And yet they lie.
Waiting to yield to me again only
When I decide to play some more.