That night in my dream
I saw the table, sheets of paper,
pens scattered all around.

I sat down to write,
like many nights before.
I picked a pen and another,
but both ran out of ink.

The voices fell silent.
I sat alone in my room,
calm and surprisingly happy
watching the black sky
not as scary as before.

I thought of the sleepless hours,
spent chasing words until dawn,
afraid that something might go wrong
in a nebulous state of mind.

In the dim light of the lamp,
I raised a ladder
to my inner world.
That night,
I felt relief.
I told myself,
Why not?

If I couldn’t write I would rest—
without tension
without the nasty inner critic.

When my pens finally run dry,
It won’t be my unhappy end.
Just another phase.

Thank you, my Intuition,
for inspiration,
your soft, invisible voice
carried me to alternate worlds.
Challenging, yet meaningful.