A battle rages in a writer's mind
Stream of pespirations meandering around his visage
As he delves into territories uncharted
Seeking a tabula rasa.
The magic wand in hand
Birthing life upon a frozen land.
Sequestered somewhere in a virgin page
Shall we paint a life of picturesque landscapes or a barren stage?
The ideas may flutter in the head
And the lexicons waste, from the bleeding led.
Many a pen perishing from their tortuous dance
Upon a page, now crumpled in the waiting trash.
A writer is burdened by an unknown story
The hero may revel in his undeserved glory.
And the villain banished to his certain doom
Alas! What great story lacks its own curse of doom?
Yet they all splutter to life obediently
Each to his blessing, Each to his curse
Once he says "let there be light"
Every actor must scramble for his unrehearsed role.