Left to Write

Tonight the words are

finding it hard to appear,

hiding in the shadows

their route is not clear.

I know what I want to write

but the words will not come out

leaving feelings of frustration

at this apparent drought.

Ideas that were once so plentiful

have vanished in the night,

words without meaning are

all that is left to write.

Paper is ripped up to

be thrown on the fire,

everything is wooden

and lacking in desire.

The tiniest of sparks

is all that I need,

some small encouragement

to act as a seed.

Inspiration will then come

from the most

mundane of things,

then the words can spill out

and I can make sense

of what they bring.

close up composition desk document
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

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