Inkblots

Inkblots on the page With no words to be seen Each morning is But an endless routine The clock ticks as time pass by The lack of words I must rectify Ideas form Of characters and plots Erasing all the drippings Created by the inkblots Pen poised and ready to strike The pages filled with verse, This I like Immersed in another world That’s created No longer am I stuck And frustrated Flowing out from within by the tip Of the gold fountain pen The inkblots no longer there, Yet my eyes can’t help but stare Expecting the worst to occur As my writing blurs Instead, the sentences Become concrete I will not end with defeat The amount of time it takes To craft a story Will be worth all the Hype and glory When readers comment their criticism, Whether negative or constructive Would mean my work Has turned out productive…