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Ideas Swirling in my Head
My juvenile hand grips a pale yellow pencil
Sets delicately on the milk white paper
A storm comes and
My hand flies across the page
My thoughts spill out onto the paper
Like someone sliced my stomach
I have to let these ideas out of my head!
They are overtaking me and
I can no longer deny them
My hand is in agony
But I can’t stop.
These thoughts, hopes, dreams,
demand to come out.
I spill my guts on the page.
New ideas like lightning strikes
Raining down from Heaven.
I write
I write some more
and some more.
Gradually, my hand slows.
Peace has come after the storm.
I breath out
Not realizing that I had been holding my breath
I stare at my writing.
Is this me?
All these ideas
like debris from a tornado
Are waiting to be used.
When will their time come?
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This article has 4 comments.
What inspired me was that I have many ideas, prompts, hopes and dreams stored away in my head. I need to write them on paper or else I could run the risk that I could forget them. This poem came to me. I hope that readers will take from this to record special parts of their lives so they can use those parts for writing.