Cruel Muse
You tease and tantalize
A Whisper here…
An inkling there…
Tiny icy tendrils trickle through my mind
Never quite taking root
The blank page stares, unflinchingly bare
Its brazen gaze
A challenge to my very soul
Pen is poised in hand, and yet, no movement detected
Thoughts race and tumble over each other
Like dry leaves scattered in the wind
Blinking, I tear my eyes away…
Only to return seconds later
Silent moment builds upon silent moment
And yet the cacophony rings inside my head
The spark of an idea flames to life!
Only to peter out, never fully entering the world
The debris of crumpled paper closes in around me
A mounting monument to the tension filled moment pregnant with unexpressed inspiration
Frustration filters through the chaos of ideas tumbling over themselves
The once small voice becomes a keening banshee-like shriek
Echoing within my mind
You are not a writer!
It taunts mercilessly mocking my flailing attempts
To bring form to the effigies of stories dancing just beyond the periphery of my perception
A groaning sigh escapes my lips
Pen thrown aside in disgust
Chair pushed back from the desk
I retreat; defeated once more by the vicious blank page!
The Frith Wytch 