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To Push Against Resistance

I am typing this because I cannot sculpt or paint to date

and I cannot draw so much as a single straw!

and right now I can hardly pen a thing

or even very much think at all...

What happened to my silver screen, to the daily dose of dream?

Is this how it all comes, in my end, one by one

with every blessing stripped away;

poorer than a pauper even

with nothing left

to say?

So I write... not a poem, nor prose per se,

No, a rite of passage, to clear the way...

towards the global canyon of a universal ear;

For wrights of any medium, it would be wrong

to turn away... left, from righting the errors of one's life;

And so with bated breath... I write.