The Writer-a poem

Have you ever looked
Upon a writer’s face as he writes?
His eyes are hooked
On the paper as he mentally fights
With the demons and writer’s block.
Ideas fly by like birds in a flock.

He sits at the oak desk
Amidst a mountain of paper crumpled.
Flicking away the eraser’s speck,
Sitting in his week old clothes all rumpled,
He scratches his head in contemplation,
Wondering if the story will only be a frustration.

The lone dangling desk lamp
Sways in the breeze as the writer
Tries to climb the mental ramp,
The ramp that he wishes was a lover, not a fighter.
Then slowly the writer starts furiously
To write as the story breaks through furiously, seriously....