The stories
The lost stories
crying out in the mist for someone
to tell them, to pour into them
the breath of ink
>
The characters
The lost characters
seeking a plot for their loves and hates
ache to speak – but their faces lack
the pulse of ink
>
The dreams
The lost dreams
Nightmare and dreamsteed they gallop
white as blank paper or clotted with
the blood of ink
>
The writer
The lost writer
staring at the page, willing her fingers
to move, and moving, find again
the voice of ink
This is a response to Rick Mobbs’ latest excellent artwork, above, which made me conscious of how little energy I have these days for writing. It’s not quite a writer’s block, just a redirection of the energies that I might have used for writing. I’m so buried in reality just now that stories don’t flow so easily. But it will be over soon – less than a week before I can be free to live, and dance, my dreams.
Words that sing 
It’ll be over soon as you say. It happens to us all, don’t it?
this is beautiful lirone.
I like this a lot. The way you end with “the writer” is wonderful.
Your words go well with the artwork. Both are beautiful.
“I’m so buried in reality..” I know how that is.
Oh my, this is so beautiful. The cadence, the pattern, the ending — all effectively transport me to writer’s Eden. 😉 Cheers.