My computer screen is empty, or nearly so!
Empty except for the insertion point,
Which winks at me balefully
From the corner of the weakly pulsing rectangle.
It seems to be expecting the touch of my fingers upon the keys
Which will tell it to move over,
To make room for the first word of my masterpiece!
But my mind is as blank as the glowing screen.
No words, no trite phrases,
No lilting lines of breathtaking poetry;
Just emptiness!

I lay awake last night and composed miraculous lines.
Lines of gasp provoking prose,
Interspersed with rhyme and meter!
These wondrous lines would make me famous,
World renowned,
When I committed them to paper
Or to my word processor........
Breakfast is done!
But where are those elusive words now?
They've all fled,
Replaced by the cares and tribulations of the working day!

As all days do, this day will pass,
And perhaps, when I crawl again between my sheets
I'll rediscover the wonderful lines I composed last night,
Tucked beneath my pillow,
Tangled in my sheets,
Or folded in the counterpane of my unmade bed.
They're elusive now,
But when I loose my grip on mundane cares
They'll all come creeping back.
Tonight I'll make sure I save them all!
For posterity, perhaps!

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