Beginings

Idle scratchings on loose papers,
the early work of all creators.
Torn up pages and broken lead,
so many stories, locked in my head.
Begging for freedom, my hand moves,
a will of its own as it etches it's grooves.
Asleep at wheel, my hands begin to write,
crossed out words, and stretches of white.
My words on the page, no more room you see.
Nothing is more beautiful to me.

Reviews

[Dimitri]

Like the 1st reviewer said, "makes me want to write", nice!

[Taylor H.]

this is beautiful and makes me want to write