Writer’s Block

Morning…

Arising, automaton-like from the empty bed.

Staggering through the motions of life beginning.

Noon…

A hurried meal, if at all.

Nothing more special than whatever’s available.

Evening…

Floating through the day,

Touching lives, yet strangely untouched.

Night…

Alone, a darkened room serves as a backdrop,

For the final stages.

Closing…

A cold bed, empty, bereft,

Shared only with the tears.

Rolling on, the sea swells,
tossing, turning,
an unsettled surface,
leaving you adrift.
Tempest tossed,
the ship tumbles,
spun and battered
by the shifting currents.
Uncertainty rises,
removing equilibrium,
upsetting the balance,
and bringing the sea to dry land.
Confusion,
Frustration,
Fear,
Change.
These are the voices,
that cry in the depths of the soul.
Leaving the mind befuddled,
and lost.
When the heart cries out,
begging for stability,
the deep currents of displacement
upset the ship of the mind.
And toss it,
leaving certainty in its wake,
and setting the soul to doubt,
even the strong grow queasy.

When darkness rolls in,
  enveloping those
  who follow Duty’s call,
When the despair grows,
  threatening to overwhelm
  those who dare
The Questions remain:
  How much longer?
  How much more?

When darkness rolls in,
  and the coyote
  howls at the door,
And the serpents circle,
  seeking openings
  to bite,
The Questions remain:
  How much longer?
  How much more?

When darkness rolls in,
  threatening despair,
  bringing hopelessness,
When the rage grows,
  pounding at futility
  railing against sloth,
The Questions are answered:
  Until I have no more
  Until I cannot go on.