Blank Pages


We reach out for the words
When we don’t know yet what they are;
When they’re merely instinct on the edges,
The twinkle of a star.

We reach out for the words
And we try to catch them quick;
But alas! there goes another,
For words are always quick to slip.

Credit to my sister, whose words started this poem.

11 thoughts on “Blank Pages

  1. Tricky little buggers, aren’t they, Rachel?

    Everyone’s creative process is different, but I’ve found inspiration comes in bursts. Hours, sometimes days, wasted in sterile frustration, the blank page taunting. Cruelly so. Eventually, I realize maybe I really am this tepid

    Fatigue forces me to jot down something. Anything that will allow me to turn off the computer and get to bed. I’ll erase it in the morning.

    Then, with a fresh dawn, “Hey, this really isn’t half-bad.”

    Fickle mistress, the mind.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Heh! Yep, that’s the way of It. Or occasionally the reverse, where you finally write something, declaring to yourself that it’s a masterpiece — and then the morning comes and you wonder what in the world you’d been thinking. But then, even something terrible can get you started, and that’s the only way anything good comes: You have to start first.

      Liked by 1 person

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