I've not written in quite some time;
no stories, or poems, or even a rhyme.
All the common excuses float through my head;
i've had no time and my muse must have fled.
Yet i've had time enough to wish i could write,
so the calender's not the source of my plight-
and here's my muse now, galloping by,
but it seems that still i can't meet her eye.
So what is blocking my hand from the page?
Why do i feel my thoughts trapped in a cage?
Now i feel the answer looms near,
finally i see him, my nemesis; Fear.
I hold the key to set my thoughts free
but there is something inside I choose still to hide.
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