Tidal waves of uncertainty
wash across my scarred oak desktop.
The page teasing me with it's emptiness.
Not a thought will leak from my pen
and it dawns like a
maiden voyage champagne:
My soul is blank.
My mind
vacant of the most feeble thought
each vapid breath a mortal sin.
When there are no tears,
alive inside with which to cry,
and not a drop of determination persists.
Persperation rusts my brow
and my broken fingers scratch to make
mere bone etchings.
Something,
if just to shatter the nothing.
Silver trophy winner
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