How well I know this feeling!
I sit and stare
The page unmarred
Pristine and white
Waiting for my muse
Pencil touches paper
Gently gliding
As an idea flows
Only to be erased
Minutes pass
Though it may be hours
Nothing seems to stick
Except eraser crumbs
Impatience looming
My hands tremble
Something has to give
For progress to be made