Lost Voice.

The ink fall’s dry upon the page

I have no voice to own this stage

words I seek now ill defined:

shackled beats in cloistered mind.

I hear the call of phrase unborn,

the struggled cries, their rise forlorn.

Fractured sentence, splintered verse

they damn my pen with voice perverse.



© sweetwater 2020
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A very nice outburst of frustration. Much enjoyed. Supratik


Yes, the eternal curse of pen and paper, or blank Word page, time to write, but nothing damn well emerging, constipational creative paralysis! Written with your usual skill and voracity Sue. It’s ironic that when blocked, writers often find creative inspiration writing about it! Lol. Well worth the nib and nom IMHO. Incidently, on a previous piece of yours, you said you didn’t understand my tips about getting the presentation you want. What I meant was that, when you’ve a bit of spare time, you can go in SUBMIT and write in any piece, Little Bo Peep i f you… Read more »

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