Isolation breeds boredom & getting lost in thought. The poets’ pen, not ink.
We sit in boredom & see things in macro just thinking thinking Think!
Then thought is broken by the voice of the heart & that’s when things get murky.
The collision & friction of the mind & heart produces an alphabet soup that’s quirky.
None of it forms words or makes any sense… blood rises & we get busy.
Arranging & rearranging letter by letter the heady task makes our heads & hearts fizzy.
As photons of inspiration crash into our brains considering the best words to write next.
We rack our brains for rhymes & our hearts to divine the great connects.
Couplets or stanzas start to form & all falls into place.
Next thing you know there’s a cloud on your page carrying the weight of a mace.
The hands can’t keep up with the frenzy & then it’s over as quickly as it started.
With every piece, thought & heart separate & we despair they’ll forever be parted.