The Illusion
Sometimes it's impossible
No matter what you do
To find the right words
You just haven't a clue
The words are elusive
And remain out of sight
With no sure direction
Not knowing what to write
The pen meets the paper
Like two strangers afar
The poet's the director
His work is the star
The silence is deafening
As your thoughts tumble in
Not knowing the ending
Or where to begin
You peer out your window
With anticipation
Void of ideas
Or divine inspiration
The writer is sidetracked
With the slightest intrusion
And this great work of art
Has become an illusion
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