What motivates the writer is the sensation of words wandering away
Out of the mind's eye into the eyes in front of the writer
The ones that try, staring, void of ideas and yet still trying
One word following another and another and another
Hundreds fill the blanks, pages swallowing the blocked muse
As the writer puts paper to prose, prose to page, poem to prompt
Effort to effect in vain hopes someone might enjoy the rhythm he has written
Someone might read it and weep, weep like a willow tree towards the ground which houses
Crawling creatures called upon for inspiration
Inspiration occurs; success, yet to be a known quantity.
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