WRITER'S BLOCK

The blank page stares with hollow eyes
Screaming with the white emptiness of space.
Unwritten words taunting existence
Whilst fantasizing of making love with ink.

The clickety-clack of the keyboard.
The scribbly-scratch of a used up pen.
Are but memories of a worn out shell
Fading behind a thin veil of blue-gray smoke.

The angels have fallen asleep upon dark clouds.
The muses are not amused of burnt offerings.

Inspiration comes from a shotgun's lips.
Singing with the thunder of beating wings.

The morning sun bears the wicked smile
Of another sleepless night.