As prolific as I can be I
straggle along when decisions are anything more than theoretical
As in touch, as I feel
to be, with the muses that persistently confront me, knowing just what to say
here or there, when I reach a point where so much must be said, this becomes
the most daunting task of darkened dread
And I ask myself…WHY?
Am I tongue-tied
and stifled
Lost
amidst a sea of words
Perspiring
for no reason
WHY…
I could write a
biography, chapter upon chapter, of what there is to tell, what there is to
know, and yet, within those populous of words, none work as well, as hello.
Then what comes
next…how does one matriculate from salutation to unearthing life’s
mysteries. Well, perhaps someplace
in-between.
And as I hem and as I
haw, doubt creeps in and intensifies it all.
What is there to fear?
What’s the worst that
can happen?
Right?
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