Liquid Letters

Right? You're probably just sat there, Barely started out, and your writer's getting blocked. Never has a beginning felt like the end of the world. The beauty of an infinite canvas is the curse of being lost in it, beginning and end, shifting without limit. Where exactly? With what? How do I begin? A few of the questions you've been drowning in. Now stepping out of your mind, you hop into the pen, In a moment of cutting clarity, it's no more a matter of when. Oh good! you began, settled on a first line, not much to go on, but surely a good sign. "It is darkest before dawn", You pay homage to the saying, as you finally feel beauty in the making. Staging the ironies, waking the lifeless, Whipping up the rhymes, your ingredients priceless. Your ink streams with varying viscosity, as inspiration ebbs and flows. Guiding every glide with tender tenacity as your liquid letters dry into gold. It's the end of a mental sprint, Triumphantly re-entering the physical. You've erected life on paper, your pulpy masterpiece atypical. Crossing your i's and dotting your t's, "No room for mistakes" said you, your coldest critic. Taking perspectives, staving off too many cooks, for this broth of yours must go down the history books. It was born of you, but was hardly ever yours, As with every child who comes into its own, you say a prayer, as you throw it to the wolves.