Your Cure

Words appear sometimes like deja vu
You didn’t have to think, it’s as if you knew
The page fills with colour and light
So bright you don’t even have an appetite
You are lost in the zone
The frenzy, the lines of the poem
The essay spills on to the page
Like a rage
At such a pace, you dig deep
To embrace the beat
The syncopation has you in a trance
Clasped, you can’t stop, you’re caught up, in a dance
Your imagination enveloped, the day has passed
The punctuation, mid alliteration must wait
Like a storm, a hurricane
There’s no sign of abate
Until the flow is gone

 

The silence screams
Invades your dreams
Words stop with no reward
No matter how industrious your toil
There is no foil
Lost mid page you are on strike
No move across the picket line
Blanks imprinted on your mind
Slogging away, writing a few words each day
Rhythm and Rhyme are no longer easy to find

It’s not about time, getting through the door to your mind
You become guarded, as lines are discarded
A sentence or two unearthed, that don’t quite work
Nothing matches or catches
The creative in you becomes subdued, bitterly imbued
The juices have stopped
Are you blocked?
Some stimulation
To step over the edge
Finding inspiration, venturing into the unknown
Leaving the comfort zone, in your head
The bed in which you’ve slept too long
Is this a wake up call?
Discovering as you move your bones away
Towards another face or place
Familiar but obscure
You hear the song and realise
You were too comfortable and secure

And now you’ve found your cure!

© Pamela Morrison

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