My fingers won't move
My mind has
Run out of ink
Each scrap of paper
Disintegrates in my hands
Soggy and wet
Today I am unable to
Capture my thoughts
Lost
Like so many
Specks of dust
Drifting through the morning's
Filtered light
Every movement
Sends them swirling into a
Frenzied dance
Only in complete stillness
Will they find their
State of rest
Covering my world
Like ash after an eruption
This new canvas
Born from the post storm quietude
Gives me the freedom to create
A cursive of negative space
Revealing thoughts
Newly formed
Born from
Chaos
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