I stare at the blank page for long
Can't muster the courage to be strong
And write freely what my heart desires
But somehow turn towards the fleet of liars

Why! Why I ask, they tell me I'm not good enough
How! How am I supposed to learn to be tough
There is always this feeling nagging me in the back of my head
That I'm not even good enough to write for the dead

Then I turn towards those friendly species
My dog, my frog and my writing desks
I hear them encouraging me to write
And tell me it's so much better than to strive

I've decided I'm not going to listen to those fools
Neither their criticizing tone nor the conniving tools
And this is what a writer's dilemma is all about
To write from the heart and not listen to the world's bout