Curse you!

Harbringer of nothingness!

You sit there

With a blankness that astounds me.

Like I really care

In matters of the heart.

As much as I try to write

This block you support

Hold on to me so tight.

I cannot stop or start

To fathom this depth

As your bluest ink

Lies in wait

Leaving my mind on the brink

Of literary destruction.

I grasp your cool slimness

Waiting for the muse

To seize my forlorn pedantic

Being and nothingness.

You mock me, sweet pen.

Longingly I hold you

In outstretched, yet curled hand.

When will it start again?

Whe will the words dance

From you on these pages

Of my heart?

Will you impart

Oh instrument of my undoing?

I wait once more, again

For my languid words to begin.

My thoughts eschewing

At the promise

Of purloined poetry on the page.

Instead, truculent pen

You leave me thankless

Again

My heart in a rage.

06/05/2008

Author's Note: ... ever just looked at your pen?

Posted on 06/05/2008
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