Cafe with the red door
My words they don’t speak to me anymore…They have gone silent. I tried to write a monologue ended up with a paraphrased well-rehearsed dialogue where it was me my pen a barren thoughtless ambitionless dire dread sunken low endless void sheet of paper a truce I was determined to extract a reunion of me and the words a paraphrased well-rehearsed melody. I’ll call my new testament a revelation yet again the door was shut a creek on the bolts and a sudden jolt as all that was left was a seer clear serene vaccume devoid of light sound hope dreams and the desire to get up…I was paralyzed my hands were trembling my pen aching to move an inch, to explore the great run of meadows some description of waves mountains the wind playing with your hairs a cuddle under moonlight cigarette’s after ages few stanza about the windows the first ray of sun and all the words that rhyme, my pen aching to move an inch succumbed to the wounds of fantasy a café with red door and a table peering all that y...