I hold my pen tight, but no words come inside.
I think to write, but my thoughts collide.
The more I dive, the more I strive.
River of ideas come but go in a flash.
I chase them down, but they fade from light,
Like shadows vanishing before the night.
What I am facing is the writer's block,
A cage of silence, a ticking clock.
This moment of silence makes me sad.
Writer's block is a writer's death.
To be alive is to write endless.