Words jumbled and jostled around in my head without participation.
Not being inspired, I surely felt like a lump.
Motivation was begging for a pump.
Who and when, what and why ~ the wording would not come.
So out to the street to visit with neighbours instead of sitting home.
It’s a futile task to stare at the page without a magic wand.
My wander outdoors was a coffee break, my book and journal in hand.
Reading and watching passersby, a frame penned for unruly thoughts,
then to the store, tossed a busker a coin, and a litre of cream I bought.
Home again, the page still blank, I’ve yet to copy my words.
Done this evening for sure, so tonight my rest is assured.
“Writing is a struggle against silence.”
~ Carlos Fuentes
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