I pace these carpeted floors,

Stare in each reflective space for something more,

But my eyes sweep feebly,

There is nothing can suffice me,

I cna feel a desperation in my fingertips,

Waiting for the inspiration nips.

As my mind works frantically,

Trying to find the greatest story, written inspirationally,

I turn up the music and sing,

Trying to remove the useless and find my subhect for writing,

But neither workds, mind or music nor singing either,

I turn to my desk, white sheet, any story to encapture?

My mind wakes up at the white pages alluring,

I am slowly a story creating,

The desperation is gone,

I am no longer alone,

My imagination is working,

Best of all, Chapter One is forming,

The End

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