My pen to me is what a paint brush
is to a painter,
my poetry book sits blank,waiting to be used,
so many idea's to be written down,
I can't pick.....
I stare confused.
I stand back and stare,
My hands shake.....
I'm anixous....
I hesitate before this canvas.
Steady now.....
I take a deep breath,
compose myself,
I pick up my pen and begin to write.