Empty

Here I sit starring wide-eyed at a blank page
The muse flutters by leaving a word or two
Scribbled on the white canvas
But just as quickly, she is gone
Taking the ink in the wells with her
Even the lead in the pencils 
Is illegible against the bare paper.

Why does she tease me so?
Why does she leave me hanging with bated breath
Waiting and longing for her return?
My passion is to write,
Visions of stories dance through my mind
But putting the words to paper
Is a daunting task
That escapes my ability
without her.

Then I’m told of a place
Hidden under the burgundy carpet
A trap door opened only by a heart shaped key
This key given only to the pure of heart
By the pure of heart
Is placed in my hand by one of my trusted clan

I tremble as I pull back the carpet
To reveal the locked trap door
With shaking fingers I slip the key into its lock

Click

The lock falls to the ground
I slowly open the door

The room of muses is empty…

                  Written by Tink 5/26/09 2:26pm