Inspiration is a gift.
As too is imagination.
The author; the poet.
Into their world of creativity.
The words were inside.
Locked in the mind.
Not lost, just jumbled up.
Waiting to be inked on paper.
Looking out the window.
On a bright sunny day.
A day meant to be outside.
The mind stabs the blank paper.
The alphabets are floating.
I can’t get them to stay still.
Flitting towards the window.
Aiming for the outdoors.
The body doesn’t follow.
There are poems to be inked.
But the mind is stronger.
Creativity throws a tantrum.
The paper remains blank.
Inspiration shuts down.
While the imagination goes wild.
Telling the mind, “Let’s play hooky.”
By C.E. Pereira
(9-12-2018)
HoneyGwhiz 
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