Sometimes the blank page
pulls me to write a thousand words
Not knowing where to stop
As it flows on its own.
Yet, there are times
when there are so many things
I want to write about
But, it is far behind somewhere.
Cloudy and blurred
with no intention to move
I sit and stare at a blank page
Picking hard at that one thing for a clue.
Even as one hundred chores wait
I wait for something to flow out
To empty the chaos
To breathe in some freshness.
Even as the little one calls me to play
I cannot concentrate on what she says
Until I let out this bizarre feeling
Out of my mind.
As I put my confusion into words
Things finally take a different stride
Nothing becomes something
That I can put a name to.
Just becoming aware of my mind
Is all that I need, maybe.
I smile as I understand this
As words flow once again.
How true. We feel so restless until we get those ideas on paper, don’t we?
Oh, that is true Corinne! Hugs!
So well expressed. I get that feeling once in a while, it has even turned me into a 2 am poet because that is the only time I can relax my mind without any disturbance.
Haha. We mothers are either midnight poets or early morning poets.