I sat, staring
a raw paper, naked before me
it gawks at me, teases me, mocks me.
With a blank stare it intimidates me.
Ah, a pun!
Lost pun, without a home.
Perhaps I should file it
with so many other homeless puns?
They have no where to go.
Like a transient they stand
holding signs that read
"Will work for a storyline."
But they are not alone.
There are sentences, paragraphs,
poems and essays
with no end in sight.
"Come join us!" they cry.
"We will await the gods
imagination and inspiration!"

But as Christ delays his coming,
so do they.

But wait, and wait it shall.
Patient paper
Silent paper
The gods will come.
As thieves in the night.
In the dawns early light.
Ah yes!
You will not compel me to stare.
Taunting remnant of tree.

For the gods never come
while I watch.