I trail an inkless pen across fading paper
Hoping for a flood of inspired creativity
I keep my window open, waiting for a gale
Darting eyes to the phone, perhaps the words will call
Or the roof caves in and a line or two will fall
I’ve got my stereo turned down so Beethoven whispers in my ear
But the violin remains cold and the piano will not fold
His rusty cello strings laugh at my frustration
The synchronized orchestra a welcome intrusion
It’s last call at the café and the barista grows impatient
But I’ll sit here resilient because I know that it will come to me
Of this I’m confident
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