clickclickclick…
.

there he sits,

the brooding writer,

poor soul, so lost, so torn,

writes sorrow, nothing brighter
.

there he types,

furiously clicking away,

he is the key to the mind and heart,

he will show you the way
.

there he ponders,

'what shall I concoct now?'

never starved for ideas,

never breaks a sweat upon his brow
.

there he plans,

look at him go!

what will he result?

who can know?
.

there, he finishes,

puts the icing on the cake,

the masterpiece is finished,

now, he'll take
.

there, he basks,

engulfed by praise and cheer,

pelted lush with awards,

yet something's wrong here
.

there, you see?

his creative license gone amok,

copied right off the front page,

now he's stuck
.

there he fumes,

lost it all to a clever observer,

no credibility left for him,

swept away by the fervor
.

there he hides,

back in obscurity, so sad

trying again to conjure the best

the world has ever had
.

...clickclickclick