The mind is empty, the fingers tremble,
The thoughts black out, ideas fumble.
You hold the pen loose, you hold the pen tight,
You squeeze every inch of imagination, yet nothing comes to sight.
Frustration is rising high, just what you cannot afford,
Even the most funny of things now appear bored.
You look within, you look around
Straining for every sight, straining for every sound
The lifeless door, the lifeless man,
The silent lights, the crooked can
The creaking of the chair, the buzzing of the machine,
The whistle of the breeze, the drop of the pin.
Things old, and things new,
Yet no idea comes to the rescue.
So much to express, so much to sing,
I desperately need to write something.
Nothing bad ever looks complete,
Mediocrity never fits perfectly in the seat.
But there’s only so much you can force against your will,
There is only so much that your imagination can fill.
Its time to pause and admire the way,
Life will still be waiting for you to compose another day