The Cycle of Creative Thought
24 February 2004
8:55 P.M

My fingers twitch, yes, they twitch
My mind wanders, yes, it wanders
I stare, yes, stare, before an empty page
Pen clasped, clasped tight,
Between my fingers
A sigh escapes
What to write, what to write
The feeling, yes, feeling, it overwhelms
Desire to write, yes, write
But what? What, indeed?
My fingers twitch, yes, they twitch
My pen it etches, yes, it etches
Random words on paper
Black soon fills the lovely white page
My inner, most inner, thoughts
My love, my hate, my joy displayed
For all, yes, all, to see, to see
I do not mind, no, I don't mind
For this, yes that, is what I desire
Release of pent up, long pent up, emotions
To be torn apart, yes torn apart,
By people, mindless people, who call themselves
Critics, critics of art
Of poetry, prose, stories, verse
Thankfully I have been blessed, blessed
With the curse of a creative mind
My fingers twitch, yes they twitch
My mind wanders, yes, it wanders
I stare, yes, stare, before an empty page
Pen clasped, clasped tight,
Between my fingers
A sigh escapes
What to write, what to write
And as I sit, yes, as I sit, frustrated
The cycle, this damned cycle of creative thought,
Begins anew.