My thoughts running
amok
In search of a thrill
They seek distant manors
To invade, conquer
and kill.
But words do not flow
From the mouth of my
quill
They lie battered,
bruised
Motionless and still.
The pages glare at me
Blank-bereft of any frill
Accusing me of
indolence
Lack of purpose and a
will
The gulf is ever
widening
Thoughts to
words-words to quill
My heart’s blood is
surging
The veins of my pen
to fill.
(Anurag)
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