Silent Muse (Sonnet)

A wooden road of thought so deeply grained with ruts beneath the shudder of my pen it's inkless falterings my hand stills pained in search for words that may not come again. These random slivers of such dense suspense have sewn my hand unto my sagging shoulder the wretched shivers quiver so intense it melts my fragile muse in dipping solder. Distracted by this torture's ruthless pause with eyes I skip the silver disc of night and listen for the ripples of applause while darkness falters with the dawning light. Another wordless day has idled on, again I find the midnight gone with dawn.