Rose Losey Poet I do not know?

First Draft

You’re waiting for inspiration to hit you like a lightening bolt,
As you doodle smiley faces on the corner of your paper.

You stare out the window
Becoming mesmerized by the river of white and red lights
from the interstate.

You pace the perimeter of your room,
As invisible Demons and Angels whisper clashing messages of
Encouragement and failure.

You close your eyes and say Omm to center your fractured self. 
Returning the pen and paper,
You question how creative writing had once come so easily.

Without a thought, 
You begin…

And write and write and write,

Until every last word 

is emptied 

from your soul.

Your pen drops to the floor,
You restrain your manic-inner critic’s compulsion 

To edit and edit and edit..

And flee into the autumn night,

Half content and half tortured,
You breathe crisp air and stare up
at the star studded sky.

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Joanna Smith March 9, 2010 at 6:40 AM this is the perfect description for me of writing, i have periods of a couple months where i wont come up with anything good and then BAM im writing poems left and right. this is a grea write and i really enjoyed it. Jo

James Foulk September 25, 2008 at 11:44 AM a much different poem and well said, nicely done.