|
crumbled by MICHEL
FRACOIS
|
It
sneaks up on you,
the
blankness of it all.
That
piece of paper you have.
Still
white. Clean. Unmarked.
Blank.
Your
hand waits at the ready,
For
when inspiration befalls.
And
when you’re ready to leave a mark.
Any
mark at all.
And
so you start. One stroke. Two.
A
dot here and a dash there.
You
pause. Furrowed brows.
It’s
all wrong.
Crumple.
Again.
Beads
of sweat
across
your head.
Muscles
tense
in
your hand.
Ready.
A
dance forms between your sheets.
Pen
and paper mingle and intertwine,
leaving
traces of themselves
over
each other.
Again
and again.
A
rhythm ensues, a careful one.
Soon,
soon.
Don’t
hurry
But
soon.
A
sound from afar breaks your flow.
You
stop, alight and awake.
A
short walk,
a
break for now.
That’s
ugly.
What
was I thinking?
Ugh.
No.
No.
With
hands up in the air,
A
fistful of hair,
Forehead
on knee.
You
surrender inevitably.
Sleep,
sweet surrender.
Twas
not to be.
Eyes
wide awake,
Heavy
breaths, restless heart.
The
brain churns,
The
body turns,
Like
rusty wheels set in motion
The
haze lifts, slowly.
Surely.
Crawl.
Scratches
in the shadows,
A
hunched back,
The
dance continues
By
the light of the lamp
Shhh
don’t scare it away
Quiet,
quiet.
Squint
your eyes
Erase
all thoughts
Make
space
For
that glimmer of hope
The
lighting strikes
All
but once
Tap,
dig, move,
Make
way for inspiration
When
it comes.
Grasp,
grasp.
Reach.
Paw,
wrestle, claw.
Kiss
it, embrace it,
Put
it all down.
Before
you go blank
forevermore.