I hold this pen and look at it suspiciously,
A sheet of paper
lays quietly on the table,
Waiting as it has for the past six
years.
I've thought of doing and have not done.
The paper
looks so clean and white,
It means a shame to spoil it with my
scribble,
That pretends to be a masterpiece.
Yes I am
probably going to sweat blood,
And probably get writer's bottom
as well,
The writer's block has got to go.
For although I
won't make a fortune,
It is necessary for me to write,
To
remain sane and hopeful,
In this society that recognises
only,
Professions that require you to work for someone
else.
Yes, I am going to sweat blood,
But I need to,
I
need to write like I need to breathe,
And my payment is in the
best writer's backside.
Posted: 2007-07-01 13:00:23