Some Days
Some days the words rush in on me
And my writing gushes out
Like a hydrant wetting children on hot summer day
My fire gets put out
Some days the words tease me
As my writing just trickles out
Like the last moments of water in the garden hose
Conserving it all for a drought
Some days the words gently unfold
And my writing slowly pours out
Like a pitcher of crisp, clean water
Nourishes my body and wets my mouth
Some days the words don’t come at all
My writing it has no chords
My instruments call to me
I am lost without a word
8-16-14
Copyright © Christine Costello | Year Posted 2014
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