I need a spark to light this fire.
Perhaps the flames of creativity
could burn away
the blanket of nothingness called
that has descended upon me
and give me back my muse.
She's being held hostage
in the Castle of the Unthinkers,
and I'd rather not lay,
trapped and unmoving,
under Writer's Block's firm hands
while she sings her melody of dreams
to no one in particular.
Or worse, she could be singing
to someone else.
My thoughts, my words,
ripped out of my soul
and thrust into another's hands?
Nyet! O mighty pen,
my Excalibur of literature,
rip through the grip
of the accursed Writer's Block,
and save me
from certain destruction of the mind.
Hey, look. It worked.