painful tide of frustration
flow towards the shores of his mind
scrunched pieces of imagination
lay shredded before his feet

the peak of his pen is stiff
subdued in a pathetic State of drought
gnashing against his piece of paper
like tree bark run through the ground

the salt on this sore
is his memories of the yesteryears
when in the symphony
and Harmony of his pen and paper
the flow of time quietly liquidified
quickly bound in his strands of word

his words were a thief of time
drowning the rumbling of voices
in his quiet whisper of poetic words
calming the clash...