Writer's Block

I'm searching desperately
for a small poetic moment,
buried somewhere beneath the wash..
hidden in the clothes line.

Maybe that's where it's going to leave me,
unrhymed and alone,
constantly looking for a story in the stars
and no words for my page.

So badly do I want to fill
these bloody lines with something..
anything of substance.
I want to matter and to mean.

I suppose that's how it goes sometimes,
we burst and then we bust,
our own momentum throwing us too far..
hurtling past the sunshine

and into the dark.
We just grasp for a moment,
any moment we may have,
to light our way.

Just a moment...