This is the only true terror to be
The blinking cursor that moves not one space
Or those ruled lines that scream to be penned on
A page that’s blank, while pen is full scares me

Thoughts clash around in ambiguity
Those wisps of words, so close within my grasp
Yet I cannot make heads nor tails of it
This is the only true terror to be

Sometimes mere scribbles are all that I see
But at least there is hope for something more
Empty eight by elevens have no chance
A page that’s blank, while pen is full scares me

This is the only true terror to be
For someone whose whole life depends on words
A page that’s blank, while pen is full scares me

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Ars Poetica in a Villonnet