Sitting here staring at the canvas
Its bright, white cleanliness mocks me

I remember the works of others
But they seem contrite and elusive
 

My thoughts once racing are quiet
My mind sees only empty blackness
 

Smoke curls from the endless cigarettes
Butts burning up in the full ashtrays
 

All the tools are here
Just waiting for me to use them
 

I look to others for inspiration
Only to find nescience and rejection 
 

I revisit past work only to see myself
I gaze again at the jeering canvas
 

The sands of time continue
The world turns daylight appears again
 

But alas my mind is still dark
The more ashes the less confidence
 

My hand is poised waiting for instructions Instructions that may never come today
 

My pallet calls me to it
Perhaps I will find repose in my dreams