slothinator

I want to write,

To let my words pour from my fingertips,

To allow my imagination to run free,

To gift my ideas to others,

To simply put pen to paper.

I stare at the words in front of me,

The blank space below them,

The keys beneath my fingertips,

The possibilities I could bring to life.

Story lines bud in my mind,

But I hold back from letting them blossom,

A bubble of light rests atop the water,

Glimmering and glinting across the lake.

It’s a pocket of sunshine,

A pillow of glowing hope,

A pool of life.

Autumn leaves flutter around my head,

The color popping in the chilly,

Swirling air.

The veins stretch out,

Delicate within the leaves.

They connect,