Stricken
with a sickness
of the mind,
so it seems.

Words,
that for a time,
fell so
easily.

Now
they are stuck,
like a lump
in my throat.

Why
is it always
when I
need to write,
that I stay up
and think
until morning's light,
and never
get anywhere
with words
on my page
and that,
my dear friend,
is being stuck in a cage.