Writers Block

 
 
The words will come all dreamers pray as they prepare to write.
Out my window reigns the full moon on this last autumn night.
Should I put to parchment things I’ve heard about this time of year?
And ring louder now the whispered stories that fell soft within my ears.
Strange my candles flame doth bend away from encroaching gloom.
As alone I am I feel a presence bearing close within my room.
Tis hardy nymph or fairy child of sweet and pure felt heart.
Dancing shadows and tethered owners are freely torn apart.
Into the darkness strain mine eyes that’s both alive and with out life.
I wish to shred this blackened specter’s cloak should I beheld a knife.
These later years recall my youth’s nightmarish childhood dreams.
As the comforts that surround me now may not be as they may seem.
Rushing to an open window I hope to further fortify my keep.
I see the rolling meadows fog beyond where swampy creatures sleep.
Up peers the red glowing eyes each of a tortured forgotten soul.
Aberrations dressed in death as black as charred briquettes of coal.
I know them well, I wished them life, they were of stories told.
It’s the tales magic that holds a curse for it never can grow old.
Now for me they have come my days are weak and old.
What’s written is but of a terrible sameness of earlier stories told.
At my hearth I stoke the flames and feed it well with coal.
My spirits comfort grows with the fires light though terror fills my soul.
By fright my vigilance is worn down but I dare not take to sleep
Away slips the slow ebb of time stealing the sanity I pray to keep.
I reason there visions but it’s less the truth than they do truly seem.
More than flights of fancy or haunting ghost of some disturbing dream.
Defenseless am I against these demons not a musket or a knife.
Approaching nearer is that sad moment when I may loose my life.
The logic that once served me well rips my every thought apart.
I savor my gasping precious breath and chest beat of my heart.
This last stand is it to be my grave instead of private rented room?
Like triumphant warriors the dawn appeared to chase away the gloom.
Erupts the quiet din replaced the howls that rudely cursed the ear.
I survive once more the hallowed season to live another blessed year.
The mornings rise herds away the loathsome creatures of the night.
Quaked so great by fear touched nerve never more shall I write.