The Writers Bane
When I take up the pen
where do I go?
To a place of recollection
of where I have been?
Is there a possession
taking over my
cognizant condition?
Turning upside-down
my sane position
like last remnants
of a dream
clinging to my face
like a web in the dark
inducing a mental scream
...oh, not from pain
just a writers bane
therefore I scribe
it's my exorcism
ridding the demons talon
that's clawing at my brain
and leaves you wondering
at the lunatics refrain
leaves you in question
of how does he do it
again, again, and again?
How deep is that well?
A depth fathomed in ink
and will I sink
if I dare
a creation
that is too weighty
to carry to the end
of the page
or will the leaf
turn again
continuing insanity
pious vanity
till the lead has worn down
inspiration rescinded
the blotter has dried
and the book is ended.