Poetry for the Thoughtful

Writers block

I sat at my desk, sweat dripping down my face. My pen quivered in my hand, scrawling meaningless letters on a black page.

Shapeless figures cartwheeled through my mind. The pen in my hand was still now. The ideas did not touch it, spinning just out of reach. Then, like a blessing, one landed, a butterfly on a leaf. Relief spread across my face, as the figures formed themselves, marshalled by unseen hands not my own.

Catching them, I molded them to my shapes, and they flowed like water to my page. It filled up like a bucket. My hand was a blur of movement. The story buit to a climax...

Then dropped away. Life puffs of steam in heat, the ideas driffed away on a breeze.

I sat at my desk, sweat dripping down my face,

Waiting for inspiration.