Blocked

My writing is blocked….
rocked from one topic to another…
taking stock of what’s needed to create….
even the clock of forced writing is a crock….
outside forces leave me shell-shocked…
who knows where our country is headed….

My reading is blocked….
I lock my mind into the story and instead wander….
after five pages, wonder: who is this character anyway ….
enjoyment, the bedrock of reading nowhere in sight……
disheartened by leaders who go off half-cocked….
and by others who stay silent but follow like a flock ….

My concentration is blocked….….
trouble following any conversation….
watch TV and lose track of the story……
rewind the recorder to hear that again…
this gridlock persists though I resist like a hawk….
the latest best idea is to arm teachers….
students balk…

My sleeping is blocked….
strange dreams full of people I’ve never met….
but who’ve mocked me and socked me ……
can’t remember the details but know I’m being stalked……
I wake thinking there’s something I have to do…
then realize it was in the dream….
shocked by the dishonesty and deceit of our government……
our whole country is in a similar deadlock….

My optimism is blocked….

 

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