I just finished writing the last story for my new book. I just have to review it before sending it to the editor. I tried to think of something to write, came up with nothing and decided to write about that feeling of blankness.

Burned Out and Bare

My brain is frizzled and fried

Creativity is gone

New ideas, void inside

I’m bored and stifle a yawn.

Waiting for a spark to ignite

Looking in an empty bin

For an idea to spark

But there is nothing within.

Can this be called writer’s block

Or burn out, ending a book

Will my treasury unlock

To find new thoughts when I look?

Like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard

Shelves in my brain remain bare.

Looking, there is nothing stored

Yet, I study and stare.

Relax, ideas will bloom

Fountains will once again flow

New thoughts will rise from the tomb

Flowers grow from seeds we sow.

A small light in the shadow

Grows brighter as we draw near

Enlightened by its soft glow

Stories will come, do not fear.