Thursday, January 2, 2003
The Writer's Mind
Blank paper staring up at me. Intimidating.
It's mocking me, taunting me,
"You cannot write, you do not know what to write."
Pick up a pen. Scrible. Doodle.
Write of dogs who talk and play cards.
Of spiders who weave webs of words.
Write of thoughts and colors and sounds.
Just fill the paper.
Fill it with songs of love.
Fill it with condemning words of hate.
Fill it with stories of the past, with predictions of the future.
Ramble on and on about nothing at all, just fill the paper.
I pick up a pen. I scribble. I doodle. I fill the paper.
And the blank paper...is dead.