An Artists' Frustration

All a mind's eye can see
Is a blank expanse,
waiting for inspiration.
A potential minefield of 
Horrendous
Mistakes.

To set down your pen
Is to admit defeat.
To touch pen to page is
All you can hope for.

You sit, you stare at
Some inanimate object,
hoping, praying for a
Paragraph, a sentence,
A phrase, a word.
ANYTHING.

To those whose pens 
Rarely cease their flow:

HOW DO YOU DO IT?

Do you have a muse
whispering in your ear?
Is your soul connected
Profoundly and unseen
To some part of the 
Distant, vast cosmos?

To have constant ideas
For the filling of lines,
To maintain a flow of
Artistic inspiration...

It is a wonder to be marveled.