A thousand stars stared back,
splattered on the pane
a disembodied cry called out,
but didn’t stop the rain.
The page in front so blank
while the world outside is full,
I need something to say,
A blast in a plunge pool.
Raging moors and purple skies
and still a white abyss.
Racing oars and ebbing shores,
Alas, no tempest.
Perhaps inspiration takes talent,
A catalyst for a bang.
Light bulbs that suddenly click,
A bell abruptly rang.
Extracting words like teeth,
My head begins to reel
And then, a thunder stroke!
I pick my pen up in appeal.
