The Hand that Writ

There was a time

in the tangled years 

of youth

when the pen

eager to obey

my orders

words would flow

onto the page

as effortless

as 

breathing

or

bleeding

this time

in the agony of the unseen

my words

 labored

and

clotting

as I scratch

an inkless rod

onto a glowing diode tablet

begging

the

recalcitrant

muse

 to comply

Her demands

simple

I yield

under the pressure

her insistence

to persist

to deepen 

the groove

however

painful

until the place

grows warm

and

familiar

as

tears

Camp NaNoWriMo  Day 21