In moments of wordlessness

The same image,
again and again.

Have I run out of options?

Have subjects I know
given their best,
and now I'm at the bottom of the barrel?

I look at the tools left,
wondering how to piece them together.

What will fit?

What will take what I have,
and make it into something
wonderful?
engaging?
living?

And suddenly,
the pen slips,
and inspiration
strikes.

The pen falls in hand,
the words flow through,
and it begins.

While scraping the barrel,
the tank below was revealed.


So much has been left
uncovered.

It's only fair if I make these wrongs
write.