The brilliant screen, static, on a blank white page
Letters poised on the keyboard, like actors on a stage
Awaiting a word, an idea, a point to start from
The cursor blinks on, but the words never come.
The uncapped pen just lost its dream job
Grudgingly, it just doodles now; can’t afford to be a snob
Hoping the mindless scribbles light a bulb in the head
So it can go back to writing meaningful words instead.
The paper sits snug in the typewriter’s embrace
Gazing, expectantly, at the writer’s face
Seeing the Writer’s vacant, lost expressions remain
It wonders if it’ll ever taste ink again.
Restless, they beseech their master’s uninspired state
Stuck in this ennui, while all their destinies lie in wait
Isn’t writing what she’s passionate about?
She’s a Writer, gosh darn it! She ought to know a way out!
But it wasn’t writer’s block, and it wasn’t lack of skills
The Writer sought a regular job; her passion wasn’t paying the bills
But whatever she tried had the same pitfall
Didn’t they say ‘Do it with passion or not at all’?
Oh, if only she got paid to spin a web of words
Read stories, daydream, and conjure fictional worlds
Or write about the things that made her heart glow
Books, Movies, Food and her favourite TV show.
But wishful thinking wouldn’t get her anywhere
She had to take a chance, she had to dare
Returning to her writer’s tools, her loyal friends of old
She started with straws before she could spin gold.
So now, compromise was the order of the day
She’d find a job that let her write and would also pay
Whilst looking for that big idea that would help her breakout
As long as she got to do what she was passionate about.
In Response to The Daily Post’s prompt Passionate