Monday, January 30, 2006


I stare into the abyss, the limitless depth of the blank page
I close my eyes, dream of nothing…open them again in the murky fog of frustration
I pick up the pen; a magician’s wand, a talisman against unseen evils, a mighty sword
But the magic has failed me, the demons lurk elsewhere, the metal rusty and useless

I replace the cork in the bottle, extinguish the flame, and leave the table
The solitary piece of paper remains, centered, ready, mocking me, taunting me
I stare at the starless midnight sky, marred by sullen clouds of no shape or form
Formless, like my paper; naked, vulnerable, hateful and severe

Lying on the lumpy cot, I pull the patchwork blanket over my threadbare nightshirt
Sleep teases me when I hear a rustle on the table, the unmistakable sound of a muse
Quietly and eagerly I rise, invigorated for the chase, anxious to catch a glimpse,
A momentary peek at the process of the assembly of life on the page

And all I see is a frail old man, replacing the cork, extinguishing the flame…


TotalChaos said...

My god man. that is so deep, and my way of thinking about all the years that have passed.

Anonymous said...

If you don't mind, send me your email. Mine is on my profile page. Oliviah

Mike Ramos said...

What I sense is the pain of an artist who's muse has left him. As an artist myself I know the burning need to create. We are driven to express what is inside, even if only for ourselves. When we cannot, we suffer.