#54

March 19, 2011 § Leave a comment

These words come like lightning flashes
Like the negative image that illuminates for only a second upon the wall
In the thunderstorm of creativity
They come demanding
And powerful
And fill every aching bone inside my hand that longs for the calligraphy of poetry but they leave
Always
So quickly
And leave the aching upon my heart instead

These words come
With insistence
And impatience
Beckoning at the mind that can’t hold focus
And the hand that can’t keep up
Screaming for their life upon this page and yet the words
Are just the paper wrapped around the priceless box of inspiration
And the picture in my head is brilliantly colored when it arrives
and plays out so blankly upon these lines
these words are always so
Insufficient

These words staring back at me are like the scattered ashes of the piece of art they’re meant to be
Like the blurry incoherent dust of sidewalk masterpieces because inspiration meets my vocabulary like chalk against the wind
So I write them down and file them
Saving them for when the time is right but
That thunderstorm is over and when I view them in the light all I see are the words that now mean nothing
They are nowhere in my memory, they are nowhere on the page because jotting down a note failed to ever give them life and now
I feel like I have missed an opportunity

If only you could see the forest, lined with time
Or the reflection of two faces with equal lines
The clock hands that climb and fall like waves
And a blackbird perched on faceless graves
Golden vials measuring all of your tears
And Beauty scrawled over a foggy mirror
Because all of these once called to me
And died as thoughts that never breathed

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You are currently reading #54 at Authored Angioplasty.

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