Movements in Stillness

Perhaps it was my fault.

Always the quite one,

Moving with child steps

Through the room.

Unseen was how

The movements took me through the room,

To the corner:

Where the walls converge,

Steadying and supporting my bent spine.

The darkness concealing silent tears.

Heart and soul of it all

It’s a box.

It holds everything,

Nick-knacks collect from moments:

Some filled with pure joy

The hand craves to fondle them.

Others contain sorrow so penetrating,

Too consuming to gaze upon for more than a glance.

Instinctively tucking the darkness into the recesses:

Sheltered corners of the heart

Were it less painful on the soul.

muse come back...

I've suffered of an acute case of writer's block, the worst case I've encountered. Before I have rode it out, read lots of books, articles, blogs and such. It's not working. So, I'm trying a new tactic: forced writing. I've had a few things stirring, I know it's time to choose one and just write what ever comes out (even if it's crap).

 I pray it works.