high hurdles of a writer (lccmf)
I have major writer’s block.
Every word seems used, ancient, trite, reminiscent. I suddenly remind myself it has been months since poetry has been written. All I see are seas, a darkening silence, the Elizabethan age. Every instrument reminds me of a memory---leaves my heart aching. The bows dancing make me wistful for the past, the songs of each individual. A year ago, I was head over heels for the cello. Since then, violin has swept me into its arms---my one true love and lover. I have the impulse to throw my dreams into the past and pursue violin, extend this relationship across years, start going steady.
I find that my limited poetic senses can’t explain how I feel.