Ann Christine Tabaka writes

Words Spill Out

Torn open,

words spill from the wound,

leaping off the paper,

cascading to the floor.

Chasing them,

they tumble out the door.

Reaching out, they elude my grasp.

Following I become lost.

An empty ache torments my mind,

wondering where they vanished to.

Capturing one,

then another,

but there is no cohesion.

Phrases running amok in my head,

drift slowly to my pen.

But alas, there is no tale to tell,

only words stacked up one

against the other.

They will not align themselves

to paint the image that I hold within.

No panacea for my plight.

Another day,

another week,

and words spill out again.

Writers Block -- Jim Lively