An Exhaustive Search

Cleaning Up

Papers that were once scattered
On the floor are now organized,
Stacked nicely by section,
Each of which are my poetry.

These poems are arranged by theme,
Each exploring different aspects of life;
From personal to interpersonal,
I preach messages to the world.

Now, the papers are organized;
You may ask why it's a bad thing,
Even call me weird for such thoughts,
But you shall hear me out.

Lately, I've neglected the pen,
Only used it a few times,
And in those few times,
I struggled to write worthy pieces.

It even took days to find the right words,
A dilemma I normally don't have,
But inevitably writer's block entered my life,
Stripping me of my inspiration.

That accursed writer's block,
A dilemma even the best face;
Arrogantly, I forgot
How deadly this demon could be.

Fighting writer's block is a struggle,
Only a few times I managed to muster
Enough willpower to conquer it,
But not enough to push it away.

Stripped of my motivation,
I spent the time cleaning my mess,
The mess that was my poetry
Now carefully organized into piles.

As I was arranging my poetry,
I looked back at each piece;
Even as I noticed my growth,
It wasn't enough to fight writer's block.

I organized papers faster
Than I wrote on them;
I thought it would take forever,
But it only took an entire day.

I hated how it happened,
How a writer could fall so hard,
How a writer could find time to organize
When they should be busy scribbling.

I want those days back,
The days I was writing nonstop,
Too absorbed in the activity
That I neglected organization.

When will I go back to those days?
How can I go back to those days?
I can only wish for those days
Or work until I'm back to those days.