My Sanity and Insanity
When a Poet's Mind Draws a Blank
When a poet's mind draws a blank,
It's as though the poet's walking the plank.
He's dying a most poetic death,
And he can't find the words to describe his last breath.
See, writer's block, is like a disease,
Where your vocabulary starts to tease,
And torture you, that's just how it goes,
When a poet can't think up his next line of prose.
So what's a poet to do, you might ask,
When writing a poem becomes such a task?
Should he leave it for someone else to do,
Or come back to it in a week or two?
As a poet, I like to suggest,
That sleeping on it, is the best,
Your poem might come out crinkled, it's true,
But you're on top of things, when it's under you.
It's as though the poet's walking the plank.
He's dying a most poetic death,
And he can't find the words to describe his last breath.
See, writer's block, is like a disease,
Where your vocabulary starts to tease,
And torture you, that's just how it goes,
When a poet can't think up his next line of prose.
So what's a poet to do, you might ask,
When writing a poem becomes such a task?
Should he leave it for someone else to do,
Or come back to it in a week or two?
As a poet, I like to suggest,
That sleeping on it, is the best,
Your poem might come out crinkled, it's true,
But you're on top of things, when it's under you.
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When a Poet`s Mind Draws a Blank
When a Poet`s Mind Draws a Blank
