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"Arise, arise, arise!" I cackle,
Lightning coursing through my pen,
Dancing madly around the desk,
Rephrasing with a scalpel when,
My servant walks in grotesque,
Limping, limping in his shackles,

"Master what madness manifests tonight?"
"What monster raps on your mind's door?"
I lean close, Cheshire cat grimace,
Whisper softly, "clear the floor."
As I rise and begin to pace,
Tracing steps, my vision I recite,

"As you know, my muse haunts these halls,
Cursing those with sight to see,
Tasking me a thankless caper,
Creating art never endlessly,
With but a tomb of words and paper,
And visions beyond these four walls,"

"Now listen carefully, for this is core,
It must be clever, subtle,
Passion, yes, but never callous,
Stand strong, to withstand rebuttal,
And to make all men jealous,
Have an extended metaphor,"

"An image clear and as dense as fog,
Provocative, thick arm thoughts,
But light and delicate fingers,
Structured, planned, but never taut,
Features such that it lingers,
In the river of the mind like a log,"

"Now fetch me ink to fill a man's veins,
Enough paper to transcribe life,
Words to pin down each feeling,
An editor dissection knife,
Come on! Don't leave me reeling,
I need to put this vision into chains!"

Light flickers through dusty window panes,
Failure comes with the morning sun,
Lonely monster to hearts and minds,
Pale work, which I did shun,
As lightning living binds,
The wretched worthless word remains.

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