Hopping With John

Write my way out

I need a little help

Cannot perform anything by myself

Got all the tools and still can’t work

Or maybe my conscious is a jerk

Blurt lines but a doer wins seventy-seven times seven

And the jackpot is unseen yeah it’s Heaven

Better than remaining silent on the side

Biggest critics can’t write, their papers slide

Off desks, as we expose thoughts boldly

Inside, held feelings become moldy


How can we explain the release it’s like a perfectly shaped bookmark in an inviting crease

Especially when the writer’s block is deceased

Piece of peace pieced together warm fleece

Battling the beast on paper read among neighbors

Write our way through this fog God blesses our labor.

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