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I sit here uninspired. Creativity burning but page blank - staring back with vacant eyes. Searching for a word a beginning, a flash of memory, an image, something to start the literary flow..... ....but no cerebral utterance perforates the thought waves. The page remains blank. Void of creation. The well of wise words arid. Lying languishing in the dried up valley of conception. A winter of discontent... Uninspiring, tiring, devouring, sapping energy. A bud of Spring perforates the frozen ground - creativity reborn.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2008

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