The voice is mute



Pen poised over paper
ready to begin

A long pause ensues
waiting for the mysterious spark

Mind flits
from notion to notion

Nothing appears
just the dust of smoke

Some part of me
waits and hopes

As though the pen
is a hunting spear

More waiting
more emptiness

Frustration
pays a visit

Still more waiting
more dusty smoke

Judgement now arrives
and starts a conversation

I listen for a while
at first annoyed… then not

Emptiness wins
I'll write about that

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