
I wonder: Is there such a thing as paralysis of creativity? The centre of my thoughts that hold intrinsic meaning, where fireflies dance and darkness looms and fervent flames of passion can fill this room. This room, which houses techniques and methods of madness, has been disabled, of smooth movements it simply cannot slide nor speak. This is not a lacking of inspiration but rather a hostile sense of forced contemplation. And I can sit here patiently waiting for this centre to regain fluidity its natural flow which takes my left foot, right foot gently forward until I reach, closer you, but this quiet solitude is disturbing, so, I shriek, paralysis now shocked, returning to life, stale tastes and thoughts flow, unwelcome, ridden of, from this now-chaotic scene. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by pasja1000 from Pixabay
YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry
That’s me!
DMW Hancock
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