Day 20’s Prompt: Write a task poem.
The Harshest Taskmaster
The blank page stares up at me
Expectantly with its empty lines,
I imagine its weary, curt voice,
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
It asks with a sharp, papery tongue,
‘I thought you were gracing me with a poem,
And yet, you are still sitting there,
Chewing on that poor soul of a pen,
Tutting away because your tiny brain
Can’t muster even the faintest slither
Of poetic inspiration today!’
Realising that I don’t have an answer
And that it’s likely not entirely normal
To hear paper talking to me anyway,
I take a step back from the task at hand,
Hoping time will lift this cursed fog,
But yet I still him murmuring away,
This waiting blank page of paper
With its thin intimidating lines,
Wondering if it will be naked forever.
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