When Your Mind Was Empty
The way it used to be
You'd sit at the desk
Feathered pen in heavy hand
Waiting for the words to come
Waiting for inspiration.
The way it used to be
When your mind was empty; deprived of all thought
You'd start to write
The scratching of the pen
Spreading it's blots of ink across the yellow page
Angrily you'd crumple your paper with a satisfying sound
And throw it across the room
But the next empty page awaited you
Mocking you in the face of your emptiness
Still you're waiting for the words to come
Waiting for inspiration.
The way it used to be
You'd sit at the desk
The typewriters' clicking¾now silent
Waiting. for. the. words. to. come.
Waiting for inspiration.
The way it used to be
When your mind was empty
You'd start to type, and lose the thought
You'd tear the page out of the hungry metal jaws
The typewriter denied of its' pray
You'd throw your spoiled page towards the 'wastebasket'
But it never quite made it there
Leaving you a floor littered
With spoiled hopes and dreams
Still-waiting-for-the-words-to-come
Waiting for inspiration.
It's not the way it used to be:
Sitting at your desk
Waiting...waiting...fo...for...the words to...to come,
Waiting for inspiration.
It's not the way it used to be
When your mind is empty
The computer's blank screen
Stares at you, somehow mocking
With the cursor blinking
Its' infuriating rhythm
on the whiteness of your blank screen
When you have no words in you
There is no satisfaction in pressing
A small 'backspace' button
One small motion and your mistakes are gone
No wonder we are an arrogant people
When it is so easy for us to convince the world
That we never sat, minds blank
Waiting for the words to come
Waiting for inspiration.
