Sometimes unable to write poetry. Other times it flows out with pure ease. It’s hit or miss. It either kicks into overdrive or it stagnates. You got to take advantage of the vision when it’s there. You never know when it will dry up. You never know when a slump will rise up. Into a flow and grooving as the weekend hours go racing by. It’s still intense. That fire is still burning bright..
Candles flickering
as my inspiration flows
soon to dissipate
riding waves of creation
ebb and flow as we live life
One poet to another:
I know this feeling well.
we all live through it.
we all live through it. thanks for commenting