An Artist on a Sleepless Night

Sitting at a desk
surrounded by darkness
one dim lamp
casting a spotlight
on a blank sheet of paper
That piece of paper
with its spotless perfection
mirroring the emptiness 
of his mind
hoping that staring
will bring an idea
to the surface
of the void
He lifts his pen
and sets its tip
against the white surface
of that taunting paper
and draws a line
He stares at that line
a dash of ink
a blot of black
against pearly white
He touches it
smearing the ink
staining his finger
it is final
irreversible 
ruined
The sound of ripping
breaks the silence of the night
as he tears the paper 
into two pieces
with jagged edges
and flinging them to the floor
He holds his weary head
in his ink-stained hands 
transferring
the black streaks
onto his face
mixing with his tears
of frustration
His mind is blank 
and he cannot 
summon an image
or a story
to flow from his mind
to his hand
and out through his pen
onto paper
Time goes on
and he sits there until
the sun peaks her golden head 
up from behind the trees
and touches him with light
and inspiration 
He lifts his pen once more
and draws a line
and an arc
tracing it with hues
of yellow, orange, and gold
Feeling contentment
as the sun shines on him
and the art flows through him