The stage is set
A look at the dutiful table
Tells me I should begin
In all its gleaming glory
It beckons waiting.
As if ready to tell me
What I have to create,
And how to weave my thoughts
Around this barricade
Of empty abyss.
Quietness so perfect,
I hear my thoughts form
Turning into words
And acquiring voices,
Richly passionate
Rhyming honey-dipped,
In a desperate bid
To have me convinced,
To walk the distance
And put them down,
On the empty whiteness
Of paper, and lease them to life.
I am but frozen
In a dark emptiness,
My fingers won't relent
To commands of the mind,
Nor does the mind
Know which way to direct.
It is a patchwork
Of rainbow emotions,
While the voices of thought
Remain betrayed,
Unwritten, unread.
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