Writer's Block

Here I stare at an empty page.  I know it shall soon fill up with something, but I could never tell you what.  The pencil is restless in my hand, it wants to write, yet...nothing seems to come out.  It is as if the spirit that should flow so freely has run dry, like ink in a too-old pen, causing scratchings on the paper that simply frustrate.  I want to be inspired.  I want to feel a release, to feel my hand moving almost as if of its own accord.  Oh to feel that freedom!  To know the strangeness of reading over what I have written, and not being familiar with it at all.  And yet, here I sit.  Pencil in hand.  Waiting, waiting for the Muse to inspire and overtake me.

....

Stupid Muse.