My mind is open
My pen poised
Over a blank sheet of paper;
Silently I wait for inspiration.
Quietly observing,
Channeling,
All my thoughts toward one end
Focused towards one purpose.
Some ink is finally on the page.
It records the moment;
It saves it from disappearing
Into the abyss where all things go
To die.
Quietly,
I write.
My mind is clear,
Yet streaming,
Sometimes Screaming!
With my pen in hand
Anything is possible.
Everything is real.
Just some ink on the page—
Nothing more.
Yet, it crystallizes
The moment
For all to see
And love
Or hate
Now and forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love this poem - images flood, the poignancy and yet emptyness of it all