Sometimes creative inspiration and motivation is difficult to dredge up. I could also call this little poem "procrastination", for it describes the frustrating feeling one gets when the words or the images just won't come.
Seeking Perfection
My spirit dried like
a catacomb mite
my Muse abandoned me
as I demanded inspiration.
Walking among
dark alley pines
seeking perfection
in expression.
Bird song offered no
chorus.
Sunlight granted no
illumination.
Heavy heart and hand
drew no line.
No brush rested
comfortably in the
crux of my soul.
Come to me
vision beyond eyes.
Sing to me
symphony opus infinite
In quietude and repose,
provoked in a playful timbre
she kissed me once again
and whispered,
"Remember, perfection is the exception."
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