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My pen hovers over paper I think what can I write I really want to pen a poem But maybe not tonight I cannot get the flow to come My head is like a sieve If only I could start a line But nothing my thoughts give Should I head up the stairs And jump into my bed To find some inspiration From dreams inside my head Or maybe uncork a bottle To fill my page with ink Why that’s a great idea That’s what I’ll do I think To pull down all the barriers I’ve erected in my mind I pour a glass of Chardonnay Hoping the truth to find From deep in my subconscious Where I alone won’t tread Taken only by my dreams While I am sleeping in my bed Then suddenly a child appears His eyes are full of hope I look and see myself there Tying a noose into a rope I awaken with a shiver Running down my spine I now have had enough So I re cork the wine The writing it will have to wait Until I’m good and ready And I can hold the pen again In a hand that’s nice and steady