Standing looking blind at the blackened keys as
silent fingers await the calling of mind, soul, and heart
to spread forth words meant to penetrate the blindness
that has befallen the eyes.

Keys stuck as if congealed blood of a thousand poets stricken the letters that cause the fingers to be blind.

I sit waiting the cleansing of summer smiles, laughter, and lust to perpetuate my thoughts: I sit

Days too busy with the toils of life and nights too stilled by the loneliness that surrounds the screen cause internal reflection deep within my spirit.

The quiet fog of the morn slowly lifts across the valley awaiting the heat of the sun to whisk it away.  I hear the songs morning brings; chirped in harmony, yet I don’t feel the rhythm being made manifest through my fingers.

The slight cool breeze whips across my face refreshing as hot black coffee captures my palate rescuing my fading energy.

Awaiting the language of the keys to speak through my fingers, I softly stroke as if the keyboard is a virgin awaiting her first taste of lust.

Time still moves and fades with jumbled words; each one tagging behind the last, giving way to the next to form some random thought.

Is the continuous struggle within my world of words inspiration within itself? Maybe so, yet I would rather be inspired with the beauty that surrounds my thoughts.

Inspire me keys of black and sit me down to work. Give me thoughts of lust and laughter. Bring justice to my words and smiles to those who read them.

Inspire me.

Rb 8-18-08