Speed Of Light

Speed of Light

Two thousand fifteen
Will be the year of the novel
I said
To myself
When I was sure
Nobody was listening

Sixty thousand words
Already saved on computer
How hard
Could it be
To write the same
Throughout the course of this year

When there is no muse
Writing is slow as molasses
Months pass
No progress
Malaise sets in
So easy to ignore it

When I'm in the zone
Speed of light's got nothing on me
Words flow
Like water
Spiralling down
From the highest waterfall

No way to predict
No way to exert some control
Just slog
Or shimmer
Whatever mood
Strikes on any given day

The curse of writing
The gift of imagination
Sprint on
Fall backwards
Keep impetus
Keep writing on regardless