she sits at the table
tick tock tick
the thoughts drive against her skull like tiny mallets to a drum
she fears the freedom
tick tock tick
the splatter of ink thoughts onto the blank surface before her
and the art of poetry is the art of letting go
letting the pen fly on its own
pen is paintbrush and the paper its canvas
a canvas cannot remain blank
she cannot see the end, but only the beginning
and so she begins
YOU ARE READING
singular thoughts
Poetryin which she takes you on a journey through the many different trails of her mind. poetry / reflections / art ✏︎ poetry #492 copyright © 2017 by clato_maroondiamonds. all rights reserved. lowercase intended.
