Curse your intimidation,
dull, blank page !

I stand in awe of your potential !

My internal beast demands an ink sacrifice.

Be it Muse or Demon...
It rattles this cage !

Thus, writing is essential

Morpheus, shall have to pay the price.

You lie among shadows,
from the oil lamps glow.

Ah ! The ink is letting, But the beast does not yield.

When shall the beast or you drink your fill?

Golden rays brush your surface,
Like sunset upon snow.

The ceremonial pen, I wield ;

Staining your face...obeying your will.

It is growing dark !
The sun must rise !
So, I feed the flame more wick.

Morpheus, held at bay by caffeine's shield.

Your Yin/Yang contrast wearies my eyes.
Sleep retaliates quick.

Still, the Beast does not yield.

Your potential is far greater than my own.
I cannot quench your thirst.
I beseech you,
let me be !
Cease the torment ! Leave me alone !
Upon rising, my deed done first...
Shall be to pacify your pleas.

Better still...
I swear, when dawn comes 'round,
If within me, one faint breath there be...
I shall plant you...
DEEPLY in the ground !
You were less demanding, as a tree.

But, If it be Demon...
or Muse that plagues me...
And not just your beckoning white...
it once again...
shall scream for pen...
in shadows and lantern light.

Thus, To live...
I shall join the work force.
I will bid the Beast adieu.
I will earn my pay...
by light of day...
and sleep the whole night through.