If Not The Muse

Dare you ask, who dares
Deter you from writing,
If not your spouse, our your friend;
But albeit wouldn't you agree
That it is the trend
On which you are hooked
Not to be motivated or to be booked
By the pure impulses urging you to write;
And to write, ensconced at night
In the memory of your byte; but soon
Is revealed the shirking pose,
To sit and stare, as if paralyzed,
Mesmerized by the opaque reflection
Of a blank page, and if by magic
It turns into the eye of a Cyclops,
Frightening, intimidating; but then
The Muse barges in, the fingers begin
To move, words begin to dot the page;
Shattered stands the hypnotic stance,
The white blank page earns the hues
Of dashing colors, of metaphors
And of similies, transmitting
Sharp cadences to hazy patterns of thought;
And so, if not the muse
Then who moves you to write?