The cursor blinks

A poem about writing, Needs a STUPENDOUS amount of work to make it acceptable though

The cursor blinks
on this blank page
eager for me to fill it.
Willing me for a poem,
a story,
or even just gibberish.

Its perfect rhythm,
taunts on and on
begging me
for something,
anything,
to come to mind,
so that I might fill the page,

As I try,
it grows impatient
and like a clock,
it ticks
to remind me of
time spent
looking into its hypnotic eye
as if it has the answer.

Eventually something comes,
the cursor stops its tormenting
and becomes a useful place holder,
But next time I'm sure
when nothing's there
the cursor will be back
and eagerly tick
something out of me,
once again.