Tick tick makes the clock.
The mocking sound of writer's block.
Tick tick. Tick tick.
The words I seek, elusive and shy,
Evade my grasp, and flutter by.
A language locked within my mind,
Yet still, the key I cannot find.
In this stillness, I must wait,
For words to come and liberate.
To break the chains that bind my tongue,
And sing the song that stays unsung.
A blank page, a vast expanse,
Where once words danced, now stands a trance.
The muse has fled, the ink runs dry,
Beneath a silent, empty sky.
Tick tick makes the clock.
The mocking sound of writer's block.