Are We There Yet?
Following a map
using my hopes and dreams
as a guide
the occasional markings
of frustration splatter my windshield
like fresh puree and insect wings
in those I see potential
If I could fly...
A sonorous wind
of a teasing angel
sings choral atonality
adjusting modulation
after the storm
the calm brings clarity
the beauty I see
before me
a perfection
of chiaroscuro
dark and pearly light
clouds bathe in gold rays
cummulous covers the
bare ruby mountains
antique gold ribbon
wraps my plateau
a hush
I take it all inside
Breathe.
Write.
Breathe.
How do you feel when someone asks how's your writing?
I turn beet red then I feel inspired to chisel at my writer's block. I continue writing my first novel. Frustration is part of the writing process, but eventually it will be a scifi novel.
Happy Writing! :)
