Where Are The Dancers

Sitting at dawn
With an empty page,
It's time for my entrance.
I've set the stage.

The curtain will rise.
The music will build.
But where are the dancers?
The pen is stilled.

An audience waits
To be entertained.
The shuffle of feet
And the smiles are strained.

Here in the shadows
Is only me,
Without inspiration
And too blind to see.

I am a writer
I tell myself
And stare at the clock
On the mantle shelf.

I watch the dust fall
In the early light
And think to myself
That I've got stage fright.

The curtain will rise
On an empty stage,
For I've laid my pen down
On the empty page.

© 2001 Pam H. Murray

June 8, 2002