I hold my thoughts
In linear form
Until my eyes let lose
   The page...
A simple cure
For writer's-block
I use to get stuck
   For days...
Words would stick
In self conflict
   Distractions and dismay...
Yet still the need
To push the pen
Would help me
   Find my way...
Yet
What would I say
If a matter of gray
Could channel
   The Poets of Old...
Surely the fountain
Would soon run dryer
Than these words
That I've squeezed
   From my soul...