A poem addressed to my-self.

C. J. Black.
I certainly hope these words are not all in vain.
What? You ask – you know what, the pain –
The churning feeling that you get
You want to write, nothing happens, you fret.

This may not be how it was meant to be
When you sat to write a piece of poetry?
There were times when you did not need to rehearse
You now find you can’t write a line, never mind write a verse.

Sitting alone without an idea, you now find demoralising?
With that defeatist attitude – should you find that surprising?
It’s not something that can be easily defined
When you’re feeling low you’re not really inclined.

But out of this state of mind you will snap
Not fall deeper into this emotional trap
Negative thinking, don’t allow it win out
Turn on positivity – the seed sown will soon sprout.

Keep the head up and the nose to the grindstone
Your muse will return, you’ll not be alone
Writing should not be a lonely profession?
It should be for fun and not an obsession?

For some, writing has become their existence
Remember your sanity, to hell with resistance
If you find writing is becoming a chore
Should you consider capping the ink well, for fear of becoming a bore?

C. J. Black∁β
Monday, 06 October 2014


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