Waiting for words to find me… I sit still, allowing my thoughts to race…

Competing for the ultimate prize of “the point of inspiration”… but my carefree mind wanders, switching worlds randomly so the paths of words to the motioning of  my wrists to which I write them is indirect…

Yet I compose myself by whispering compose yourself and then reply with notes that are the pieces of the chords struck within me…

What falls to the page and to the screen sometimes even shocks me…

And I am shown often what I did not even know about myself that is imbedded in my soul whenever I give back to my soul instead of constantly asking of it…