The Block

                                  Writers Block
My eyes are alive along with my lips, and my hands may carve a bowl,
I may even decide to open the curtain and watch the red bellied bird,
But my mind so filled has lost it's way,
Locked itself inside a tomb, a prison, a watery grave,
With it flowing faster than light,
it's hard to see the words,
Hard to see the pictures,
And I,
More than just disturbed,
My blinded hands are disappointed,
As the naked pages turn and turn and turn,
Where do you go to find what you know you ready know,
I've lost the key to the lock,
I stand at the edge,
Experiencing the block.