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 by Edmund Siejka

At 2 am
Writing is not for the meek
The mind is dull
Ideas are stale
The telephone is unplugged
Everyone in the house is asleep
Not a car on the street
You have what you wanted
Don’t you?
Uninterrupted quiet
A peaceful nook 
For pen and paper.
So what holds you back?

You turn
Listening to something outside 
Rummaging through the garbage.

Turning back
To the blank screen 
You try to focus
Characters hide
You ask yourself
What was it said about imagery?
Lines lurk in the shadows
The word dialogue sounds French 
Your hands are weighed down
Fingers are heavy
It is then 
You realize that keypads 
Do not move by themselves.

Maybe, just maybe, an idea
Will step out of the darkness
In the night, trees move ever so slightly
Leaves rustle in the breeze
Tonight God
Has not smiled on you.
Inspiration is such a fleeting word. 


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  1. Date: 3/14/2015 5:01:00 PM

    wonderful! i think everyone on this site can relate to this poem. we've all been there but you've expressed it perfectly!
  1. Date: 3/14/2015 5:01:00 PM

    very nice. :)