On Writing

Words. They gather inside me all jumbled up like a marching band preparing to perform. Sounds bellowing out randomly. So here I sit, pencil in hand. Awaiting their performance. Somehow they know and they align themselves and spill over the edge. With the force of a waterfall they plunge. Down the barrel of my pencil and in order of rhyme they march, across the lines and down the page until… words stop, pencil stops, nothing comes, “The End.”