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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