With Pen In Hand

With pen in hand I begin another new day My destination unknown facing come what may Might this be the day I write the poem that inspires? The one that once and for all silences all my decriers If not, may my words at least have meaning for a few For to write is a precious gift of unimaginable value The pen dances across the paper with the greatest of ease Parsing words and phrases as if the poetry gods to appease And then as suddenly as the flow of thoughts and words did appear They vanish and all that remains is a thoroughly dejected sonneteer Here's hoping come tomorrow as I rise and take pen in hand That inspiration will return and words will once again obey my command But alas should they not I will do what I must to carry on For as the pen is my sword so is writing my Avalon