I am exhausted by strength today.
I’ve often pretended to be a mighty oak fighting the storms
Often fought the strongest winds while standing there in the open
Alone and compelled to fight
My wars, and most of the time theirs
Bewildered and forlorn
Glorifying the oak in me
Yet I have always ended up crooked, scarred, and broken
Unaccepting to the message of reality
That there will always be lulls and long despairs
And a lot of battles that you cannot choose
But will still try to find someone
Who’ll help me gather the fallen sticks, my gnarled and withered twigs
To create something beautiful
While I find again my quiet strength, my calm courage amidst any storm

Words flow like waterfalls and sometimes trickle
They call out to you at the strangest times and laugh behind your back when the creativity sparks at an inopportune time
Need I identify it, you know exactly where I am coming from
No matter your genre, the muses have a time and place and then again
They have a great time all at once or nothing at all
Being a writer isn't always understood and then a reader comments about what you wrote here or anywhere
You made them think, cry, laugh or shake their heads in wonder
It is a gift you possess
Writing in general is a treasure so keep that close to your heart the next time the paper laughs back when you don't have words to fill it up or the computer freezes

C@rainbowchaser2023