Waiting

For those who know me, I love poetry; to read and write it.  Today, I looked through my old stack of poetry and I came across one that fit my mood perfectly, so I thought I'd share one with you.  Read and enjoy!

Waiting

My pen stands in eerie expectancy.

I sit in silence, waiting for words to come.

As I look at the paper, so virgin—

so untouched, so utterly blank.

Write anything, I think, anything at all, and I mar this paper

and deface it forever.

Fear grips my very heart and soul,

stops me. 

I cannot conjure up suitable lines to be worthy

to adorn this page. 

I realize and gasp in disbelief

and silently scream.

I reel in horror.

Words are gone, lost, stomped upon by the critics.

All my dreams—my soul yearning to be free—lost.

My words are so violently taken away—

squeezed out of my being.

I sit expectantly, hoping, praying. waiting—

Or are my dreams really lost?—

Am I dreading what is not?

Before I am aware of it,

Images fill my paper without

my knowledge.

I have unauthorized fears, I realize,

and know the words will come again—

if I’m patient and wait.