The Wall

In my perfect fairy tale world, I think of life flowing smoothly on. Writing the enigma it is clearly doesn’t follow the rules.  Words either take on a life of their own or stubbornly refuse to cooperate like a fledgling adolescent. Sitting in front of my virginal word document, there is no black to be seen.

The outcome moves further from me as I vow to plough on. Wringing words out of my inner space, I survey the scene, a mass of disjointed thoughts and concepts that refuse all attempts at cohesion.  Is it even salvageable? With dismay I give it away for a bit. Tomorrow will be better.

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