Twiddling Thumbs

Twiddling thumbs are the only movement.
Sunset, light, darkness, sunrise.
Time waves as it walks on by,
Thumbs still twiddling endlessly.
Pencil and paper are within reach,
Itching to be touched, yearning to be used,
Yet the brain is like an empty trashcan –
Can’t find any treasures with nothing.
Soon, soon she will come: the Muse.
“Soon” repeats in echoes through the body.
“She will come soon, just wait and see.”
Patience has control of the mind;
In faithfulness of Muses’ appearance.