With pen in hand and paper blank as snow,
I ponder what to write, where to begin.
My thoughts like leaves in autumn breeze do blow,
And inspiration seems too far within.
I rack my brain for something new and fresh,
A tale untold or sentiment unique.
But all my words feel trite, my rhymes too fleshed,
And everything I try appears as weak.
I stare into the abyss of my mind,
Hoping a spark will light the darkest night;
But all I find are shadows undefined,
And doubts that keep me frozen in my plight.
Oh muse, where are you now when I need thee,
To guide my pen and lift me to the light?
Come fill my heart with your divine decree,
And let these words take flight before the night.
Until that moment, I’ll sit, I won’t know,
With pen in hand and paper blank as snow.

– Will Miles,
February 28, 2023