You sit waiting
for your heart to open,
to reveal the words
you need to write,
like waiting for a blossom
to push its green shoots up
out of the earth
and unfold its petals.
You close your eyes
and listen to your breath,
your pen motionless
above the blank page,
waiting,
like waiting for
a starter's gun to go off,
like waiting for birds
to arrive at the bird feeder,
like waiting
for a fish to bite
and the line to grow taut.
You sit listening to the clock on your desk
ticking away the minutes
wondering if words
will ever come
or if you'll sit here
wrapped in silence
forever
waiting for your heart
to open a crack,
for the first word
to slip out
onto the page,
then the next word,
and the next.
Patience, you whisper.
Trust, you tell yourself.
The words will come.
Just touch the paper with your pen
and begin...
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