Echo the Sounds of Silence

My pen is silent. There is little more tantalizing than the length of a blank page. I long to fill it, ache really. A pen perches comfortably in my right hand, its tip rests on the smooth paper; yet I cannot write. Full heart and inspired mind ought to flow easily out through ready fingers and yet the words will not form. So many thoughts, so many fanciful imaginings. Perhaps I should keep them to myself and the depths of me know it. But that cannot be. I have to get it out! The satisfaction of a full page drives me to grab hold of at least one thought, just one. There is a song that says, "If I get it all down on paper its not longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to." I am going to pin down one thought today. I send up a prayer and go to it.