Once upon a time I was a poetry maestro

Majestic writings beginning with a whispered idea

Ideas coming from an act, a sight, a sound, or maybe even a smell

Warm and spicy is my favorite inspiration

A symphony of words would then burst from my brain

First thoughts always soft and patient

Like a lover murmuring sweet nothings to his virgin sweetheart

Words would roll from my brain

Building to a crescendo

Similar to the perfect orgasm.

Down my arm

To my cheap pen

On to the perfect waxy paper

Clamoring to be the first out of the imprisonment of my mind

Arranging and rearranging words before my pen could write the sentence

Ending with a sigh of satisfaction

I was the maestro

At least I thought so

Words have now abandoned me

Slinking away ashamed

Leaving me like a one night stand in a cheap motel

The impotent lover

I search for inspiration everywhere

My mind grasps for ideas

Cheap pen is always poised and waiting

Ink drying on the tip in to a gooey mass of blue gelatin

I start a sentence scribble it out

Start another

Scribble it out

The definition of insanity plays over and over on my perfect waxy paper

Frustration over comes my will

Methodically I tear the scribbled pages from my book

Ripping away my failure

I fold the wasted words into origami swans

Page after wasted page become a work of an ancient art

Like prisoners of my mental war

One by one they are lined up

The purpose has become clear

The sacrificial swan

I flick my bic and begin the burning of my ignorance