Barren Times In these barren times with no sparkling words dancing about me, I feel quiet and not much more. There’s no magic around the corner, luring me forward, teasing me down a mystical lane where the stepping stones appear under my each and every step, keys under my fingertips, spilling words onto a page, like a tipped bucket of goldfish. At times I am a loom, verbs and adjectives weaving back and forth. They lay down a carpet, a tapestry scrolling a pageant unfurling, covering these palace walls wherever my eyes happen to chance a hesitant glance. It is a brief snub I must endure. In the barren times, I am hesitation in my humble room, whose colors are common and magic is a memory.
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You truly are a word weaver composing the tapestry of life.
I know this feeling—very evocative poem! The second stanza makes me imagine you and your poems spread across the floor, revising and compiling them into your book. Also, your last stanza is gorgeous!