Week Fourteen

52 Weeks of Gratitude, Week Fourteen: A talent you have

War

The pen strikes a pose, leaning against

the lines and lines and lines of words unspoken,

jittery with the expectation

of giving birth to something new, something extraordinary,

crying from the mother of imagination.

 

The pencil shuffles in, staring at

the floor of creativity with its hands folded

and humility written on its own harsh edges,

marked by hours of mistakes, days of sweaty palms

and fever-tossed nights of the draft.

 

The eraser is called up, a word’s been wounded,

fatally, and there’s no hope left for it

except to be put out of its misery, soon,

and the doctor bows his head, solemnly

as the dark figures march by, line after line after line.

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