Sitting down,
petal to the metal,
threading the needle,
the opening word,
That first step - always the hardest.
not lacking for inspiration,
nor missing tools or skill set.
It's the process,
still being formed,
the organization for smooth flow,
elimination of distractions.
Idea after idea...
written
in my head.
Fingers to keys,
I must begin.
The act of crossing things off a list gives comes abundance of satisfaction,
Time - Copious
yet still, circling the drain,
I dance the maniacal search,
looking for that perfect inspiration notebook?
The one with the right theme and the proper amount of room,
Ruffled.
a pile of blank pages,
imagining thought will get lost in the shuffle refusing to trust...
that - that - thing,
once outside of me,
will find the way.
But without releasing it,
it lives quietly whispering,
to die another silent day,
to which at one point,
fear cries,
it stops singing.
Inspiration,
dreams,
hope....
worse then deprivation,
a loss of creative possibility.
That would be detrimental to fulfilling my most meaningful melody.
And purpose in this life.
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