The Smaller Beauties

Cramps in my hands like empty pages
My pen holds it ink with frantic desire
And the paper veils its poetic secrets

Waste basket full of broken dreams
My mind abandoned like my bare walls
And the window shows all the potential

Inspiration! I need its ready position
My hearing cannot discern natures call
And my vision is failing me, clearly

Looking has nothing on actually seeing
My perception is occupied at large
And my sight is set a ways too far

Because its the smallest of stitches,
My friend, that make or break a quilt
And its up to us to acknowledge it