Blues In Red

It attacks with vehemence,
words and thoughts coalescing
composing themselves into
sentences with a vengeance.

It rouses me to write,
a fervor comes over me
that defies understanding
I scribble the barely intelligible phrases
this obsession is demanding…    

“The power of a woman’s mind
is beyond the reach
of a man by design.
We are complex creatures
with wants and needs
not just created
for pleasurable deeds.”

“Open my intellectual nose wide,
with exquisitely composed sentences,
fire up my synapses with adjectives
and verbs that wake up my senses.”

Then my muse’s passion ceases,
and agitation ensues in its wake,
the need for completion
is reminiscent of foreplay interrupted
right at the start of orgasm.  

The zeal and enthusiasm
fades leaving me bereft,
the more I try to recapture it
the more it escapes me
I become unbearably upset.

It leaves my imagination in an uproar,
How do I return the genie to the
the bottle after such furor?
The literary outbreak
has nowhere to go,
my creative juices eke back .

The eagerness and ardor
to craft a masterpiece
becomes an infatuation,
an unfulfilled climax, a misery!  

Now I am left in unrest,
with the mental havoc
and mayhem my
unfinished piece creates.

The days pass, the excitement
to finish does not return,
awaiting my fickle muse
and his tumultuous chaos
to take over me but
all efforts get spurned.

When I least expect it,
pandemonium erupts,
the fury to write possesses me,
the storm of words
and turbulent vocabulary
will have it’s way; then, climax,
when the end is finally presented.