Writer

Precious, stolen bits of time
Spent in trying to define
His need
Blankly staring into space
Shadows dancing 'cross his face
Minding only that he makes
No move
He’s forgotten, time stands still
All the words stopped up his quill
Paper can’t catch the spill
Of thought
Has the clock stopped?
Is it shifting gears?
Have the pipes blocked?
After all these years?
Has the clock stopped?
Has the clock stopped?
Constant dripping in the sink
Is it the sound of thoughts you think?
Feels as though you haven’t blinked
In days
Countless rings 'round the coffee mug
Nervous dreams drowned by drugs
Wonder if you pulled the plug
Too late
The hand drops to take its turn
His pen has left the page to burn
A Camel, he has to learn
Can’t write
Has the clock stopped?
Is it shifting gears?
Have the pipes blocked?
After all these years?
Has the clock stopped?
Has the clock stopped?