By: DaisiesNFld~.

The silence now was deafening
No sound of written word
The colors had left blank pages
Where once images were heard
The paint brush here lies idle
The canvas dry, empty and bare
Crippled then was the pen within
Words of prose no longer there
Laborious time spent in writing
Trapped in warped times writer’s block
Hands now chilled that held the quill
Marks the hours lost by the clock
With thoughts racing for the outlet
Where all poets keep words stored
Paces and paints within a mental portrait
Deftly touching up skills to restore
A fading graphic in the memory
Of a poet’s hand by candle light
Where undaunted and with scrutiny
Picks up the brush and writes
© DaisiesNfld