Running With Words
Is it possible
that I could be running out of words,
directions, poetry, prose
or at least the expression of words.
My mind, my heart, my soul
are tired today
easing away from thinking
stretching back in searching of rest in peace.
Each breath I take
is deep and long
sighing at its intake
lingering at its release
and waiting momentarily to continue.
Words mimic life processes
conceiving thoughts at conception
birthing at the proper time,
nurturing and growing in motion,
trepidations at the thresholds.
Which direction then to go?
Left, right, off to the side,
at the fork, with a pad and pen,
boldly straight ahead
Running forth with words.
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