writer's block

my fingers dance over

the keys, hesitating —

pausing, uncertain, as my eyes

search the blank wall before me

for a shadow of inspiration, and I

wait for the familiar shock

of creative energy to run

through my veins,

for the words to flow smoothly

and create sentences, paragraphs,

chapters. but

I cannot.

the words will not come, and I

blink rapidly, confused.

my fingers still dance, and I

still search, and the words still

do not form coherently, cohesively.

where did she escape to —

that elusive, secretive, mysterious creature

named inspiration? for I cannot

seem to find her

anywhere.