The Long Weekend

Scratch . . . scratch . . .

Now I sit here and intend to type

But I do not have anything to write

For in my mind there is naught

A worthy thought

A promise has been made

The need to update

Every three days or so sounds quite great

But now its not moving and in a stalemate

When time does not permit

I have to admit

Inspirations come to submit

Ideas flow in to visit

Lots of it

But as I sit

They escape, they exit

I little comprehend

The mystery of the mind

I don't understand

Why brain and hand don't sync in time

Are they numbed
Bedazzled by the long weekend?