An Origin
By Ivan Mote II
My pen infiltrates the notebook, leaving the paper to bleed with an idea
that acts on its own.
Hands start to quake from words and palms begin
to sweat with anxiety.
The increase of a heart rate causes the nerves
to go on edge.
A brainstorm forms into a tsunami, then the
irreconcilable force grows by feeding off the soul.
Tranquil
surroundings around me have converted to wave patterns; swishing and
swaying to the rhythm of my subconscious.
Then the finale.
A sun sets
transverses my eyes, blinding me to the corrupt world, conspicuously
coloring in the mistakes of my past with burgundy crayola.
Vitals
gradually return to normal, and I have now returned to reality…
I have
just written a poem.
Copyright 2011| Ivan Mote II
very good man
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