She wants to create,
To leave ink and paint
Indelibly upon the world.
There’s a restless need,
A deep-seated longing,
To leave a part of herself
Behind when she is
No more than a memory.
Yet often, she is faced
With a mental block
Of insurmountable size,
Staying her creative hands.
It takes weeks and months
Of her silenced inner voice
To rise up within her
Before pen or brush
Move once more
Upon paper or canvas.
There’s a sudden release,
as though a dam has broken,
And the silence is cast away
Once more.
The words flow,
Pictures take shape,
And her soul is spilled out
In a mixture of ink and paint
Saturated in raw emotion,
Left to dry in sunlit hope.
Once she is drained
Of all the emotion that
Has fueled her visual outcry,
She sags in relief,
Aware that nothing more
Will come forth
Until the next outburst
That will leave behind
Stories and paintings
In its wake.