A writer not writing is a storm that never abates:

it lashes in on itself, its clouds a heavy weight.

A writer not writing is a gift token unused:

its promise of riches fit for recycled refuse.

A writer not writing is a ballet shoe never worn:

never to point or pirouette, it languishes forlorn.

A writer not writing is a star without a twinkle:

a forgotten beat in a universe that’s fickle.

A writer not writing is a heart in arrest:

a soul that’s sunken, sad and suppressed.

A writer not writing forgets what she’s here for.