The Words

When the words
Won't come,
When a dam has
Formed with the
Debris of everyday life,
Stopping the flow
Of words from
Mind to hand
To pen to paper.

When the words
Won't come,
When my mind
Is full and
My tongue is empty,
And a pressure
To express builds
Up to volcanic
Proportions, alas,
With no relief.

When the words
Won't come,
When the muse
Has gone on
Vacation without
Giving notice and
I am left with
A blank page
And a ready pen.

Then they come,
These words.
In rapid succession,
Tumbling one over
The other and still
They make sense
On the canvas
That is lined for
Them.

They come,
These words.
Good, bad,
Indifferent.
Colourful, Drab,
Descriptive.
They are all here,
All present and
All mine.



The words
Have come,
Would you care
To read them?