Sunday, April 21, 2013


Months have passed,
my hands have forgotten their purpose.
My Brow furrows,
trying desperately to remember.
Perhaps too long,
nary a spark of imagination.
My very will,
my purest desire struggles in searching.
My gaze lifts,
jealous of the productivity abound.
Eyes watching others,
jealously wondering what they’re accomplishing.
Left to right,
I see eyes consume words of a hand worn book.
The pupils dilate,
in what might be excitement known only to them.
A palette drops,
noise startling all but the artist.
Stretching her back,
her eyes assess her hands’ labor.
The musician continues,
fingers strumming with practiced comfort.
His voice reaches,
song gently touching the ears of all present.
All minds calmed,
save for my own restless mind.
Exercising my consciousness,
mining the depths for precious jewels of creativity.
An ember grows,
a smile appears in sought after contentment.
Joining the din,
the tapping of keys answer the gentle fervor of fingers at work.
Tapping translates to letters,
the letters begin forming words.
Hiatus coming to an end,
the words begin to accumulate…
…filling in page after page after page…

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