There is
A hesitation in
Creation

So burdensome
That even the GREATS
Were cursed by it.

One cannot escape it
Master it or
Defeat it;

It is as apart of us
As our breathe, our sweat,
Our blood, our death.

Hesitation rests on your
Shoulders
Heavy and wet

Hesitation sits lodged in your throat
Like a boat stuck in ice

Hesitation:

The moment before
The beauty of
Creation.

Thoughts bubble and gurgle
Like water at the mouth of a river.

There, thought waits for action,
For courage, for someone to say go.

Because there can be no creation
Without a trigger.

We are machines waiting to be turned on,
Used, abused, and one day, thrown out.

The mechanism slowly spins within.
Each one of us molded, oiled, and shipped.
Our destination partly our own
And partly another.

Who is calling us out in the world
But our own selves?
Why don't we just stay the **** put?
What adventure do we seek to experience?
What has life got to offer?

Sensation.
Hesitation.
Creation

Or none.

My eyes drift to the edge of my desk.
I listen to noises I do not appreciate.
Most days everything sounds like white noise.
On the horizon, a fog rolls in, heavy gray.

I am so very tired these days.
Someone give me a pick me up.
I'll pay, I promise, I will.
Someone give me a pick me up, please.

Fortunately, fantasy has no definition, only hesitation.
Within the glass holds both the truth and the lie.
Brown paper sacks filled with groceries sit along the curb.
Rhyme and words smell like cranberries and thyme.

Cross your fingers
Allow your mind to burn like tinder
Abdicate the hierarchy

Push the pen
One more stroke