A poem from scratch
After many distractions
the mind seeks to prepare
before reaching for
a fresh blank page..
There is searching for
prompts for words coming..
An urge for perfection before
greeting that waiting white page..
Then this thought:
alas I may never be ready
perfection will never be near..
At last the mind surrenders
to a recognition
my page is infinite in its space
asking an end to thought
to simply record
new words as they rise
in my space...
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