A bit of a free write-brainstorming kind of thing. Just a moment from inside my mind.
The ink in the well, wellspring of my muse, the source begetting the void, bringer of all, birthing the beginning, setting eternal clocks ticking and I spin on the center of the wheel, trying to feel my way back through time, separating space, moving together, pushing or pulling, the maker, the made, the earth in the shade and the sea is a shadow of mist, distilling the bliss and listening to wind in the trees, a sky split asunder, the grass that grows under, a sun melting into the sea.
I love doing this, but mine are rarely this lovely and poetic.
Sometimes for me, this is how an actual poem begins. I pick out the pieces that work together and then continue to shape them. It will probably always fascinate me how creativity works within us. Thanks for the compliment!
You’re a little busy up there! Beautifully written.
It’s too cold for other bees, but not for busy me! And how weird is the word busy? Doesn’t look like it should be pronounced the way it is. Busy. I could ponder this for hours.
Oh wow. Just WOW!