I held my pen and drowned in thoughts.
Should I write? Or should I not?
I beheld my pen, and I thought deep.
Should I write? Or should I sleep?

And I lay on my bed, with no motivation;
I was lost, so was my inspiration.
And in my dream, confused, I see:
An ethereal lady chanting to me.

Sing your story, and let us hear.
How can I? With all this fear.
Write your love and sing what you feel.
I can't write, unless my words are real.

And I recognized her as she came closer.
The passion I had and thought I lost forever.
And she held my hand and whispered short:
Write for my love, and sing it for my soul.

So I woke up and wrote all night,
And I saw my words dancing with delight.
I wrote and finished that story I adore;
And I lifted my pen, but it asked for more.