Writ Out - with audio

 audio link

All shut up,
All writ out
Try to write,
It won't come out
Try again,
Turn about
Stretch the words,
Make them shout
The head is empty,
Nothing's there
No feelings felt,
No despair
Clever quips
All flown away
Muted strikes
The end of day
Blood turns still
Thick as cotton
Stillborn thoughts
Now forgotten
The new idea
Does not sketch
Withdrawn upon
An empty nest
A sling of sighs
With none to cast
Colors withheld
No stained glass
Not to worry,
Nor to pity
Hemingway lives
In a far off city
Shakespeare never stooped
Down this stair
His hand touched not
The mundane fare
So what of it when
Wispy wind sought
Is withheld and demented
Then tied in a knot
The smoke of this
Scrit is but sot
And thus contented
With his lot
The pen refuses
To put the jot
So silly strings
Need not be missed
Of nothing written,
Nothing wrought
When the lines all
Come to naught.