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A Lyricist’s Lament
© 2011 Greg Swartzentruber

The page splayed out before me
Perfect pure and clean
Awaits my pen’s caresses
To learn just what I mean
And so I grip it softly
In a gentle feather touch
And these words spill from me
That really don’t mean much
But I must keep on writing
And pray the push and pull
Will persuade myself and others
I know something meaningful

But it’s a danse macabre
When no music ever plays
When here I sit gyrating
To the rhythm’s unheard sways
I can only call on others
To animate my lonely vision
To imbue my heart’s moaning
Through some act of exorcism
With a pleasing melody
That those who play and sing
Might hear and thus proclaim
I feel that very thing

So I sit before the perfect page
And hope the muse will intervene
So my pen, the page and I
Might learn just what I mean

Greg, way deep dude. I mean that in a very good way. I loved this and I'll have to admit I really feel your sentiment.I especially like the last verse, having been there many times staring at that empty computer screen hoping something meaningful will come to you. Outstanding work, Marvin.

Just. Amazing.

Thank you for reading Marv and Meg. I appreciate your kind words.

Word. A pen and a blank page are sometimes bigger and scarier than any monster.......Until we learn how to spill the rage and fill the page.

Again your writing makes so much sense. Pure and clear! That's what I try to accomplish with my writing.
I think it's a great job, again!

Greg,
I really liked the way that it flows and considering the topic focus, is kind of ironic (perhaps this is why). The simple idea of such a great piece, lamenting over not being able to produce something. Very nice and reaches many I suspect. I do believe your muse is playing games with you. Thank you for sharing.
Anne