The Writer - a poem by Brian McAleer (first creative content post)

A blank page. A cold room. A stale coffee. A writer, blocked.

Sitting. Waiting. Hoping. Expecting. Nothing.

Ideas come. Ideas go. Where do they come from? I don't know.
Where do they go? Into doubt. Into judgement. Riddled with fear.

Never to see the light of day, because I will not let them light the way.
But I have things to say, games to play, writings how I spend my day.

But no words come, I think I’m done.

So I'll pick up a book and take a look, I'm one page in and I like the hook.
How did he do it? Put thoughts to page, and create a work to last an age.

I strive do this very thing, but I haven’t felt that magic ping.
That moment a wave flows through your mind, to crash on shore and become the find;
that sacred treasure for all to see, it shimmers with gold, fills you with glee.

It eludes me still, I can never find it, the candles gone out, won’t be relit.
So ignite the fire, with a brand new spark, and create words of light, to escape the dark.

In the light, my writings live, I've found the words I so long to give.

Read my work, it's all for you, because I love to write, its life, its true