Fan whirring, phone buzzing,
Water in the pan is boiling away.
Pen mutilated beyond recognition,
yet inspiration keeps me at bay.
Racking my IT drugged brain for a spark,
my eyes wander around the den.
The cupboard, the table, the lamp and the book,
all seem to say, 'penny for your thoughts?'
Head in my hands,
pen still in my mouth,
I pray for Divine Intervention.
Writing used to be my release.
Did I lose touch with my emotions?
Is this a block?
I need to carve another way.
I will find myself again, today is just not my day.