When the spell finally comes
It knocks heard like deadly hurricanes
Sweeping everything with strong swash
Clearing clean the traces of ideas
That stood shivering like dew, during the day
Poetic dry spell hits like spirits of doom
It sweep clean like a new broom

The period when the ink dries
And all that matters freezes like ice
That season, when ideas relocate to unknown spheres
When the poet’s pen holds its tears
Losing the sweet delicacy
That heals the soul and nourish the mind

The poet’s dry spell
Cracks down the meditation system
And closes the magical third eye
That sees the world in three dimension
The spell withers thoughts
Drying up the pen that once cried volumes
Then the poet scratches the head hard
That head, with Poor hair Distribution -PhD
The poet’s dry spell
Is when the spirit of poetry dies
Before the pen cries out last tears

(Sebby The Poet™)
All rights reserved
Tuesday 5th Sept, 2018
23:16PM , E.A.T


One thought on “POET’S DRY SPELL

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