The Eleventh, Jan. 11, 2011

eleven days in and feeling blank
all my thoughts seem to rehash
so many new areas as yet untouched
yet I cannot seem to see them

creativity is not a switch, sadly
something to turn on or off
there is no magic wand to wave
each new thought is born

some are quick deliveries
relatively no pain in creating
while other ideas will not come
I need a better inducement therapy

sources of inspiration surround me
but they are quiet and do not speak
or perhaps I am just moving too fast
unable to hear the gentle whispers

the way of life, we always rush
hurry hurry to win the race
he who dies with the most toys wins
but it depends on what the prize is

sitting still and opening my ears
shutting my lips, waiting to hear
writing what comes to my hands
and behold, it flows to the page

creativity continues to baffle
still not understanding the muse
perhaps there really is none
or perhaps it is all things