Flowing as a leaf does upon a twisting, raging river that’s winding eventually to the sea,
Words finding themselves on paper through whatever method the writer does please,
‘Till eventually they run aground into a bank of extra sticky mud,
Getting out of this messing spot is likely to be a mega mouthful of cud.
Yet on one must continue, despite the challenges this moment has created,
For stopping now amidst defeat ’tis not something one wishes demonstrated,
So on one sludges gradually with a deep breath and cup of hope,
Praying evidently that this patch of muck’s not a steep slope.
Element by element one seems to find momentum in their task,
Unaware if their making progress or getting absolutely nowhere fast,
Thus on they drive themselves, determined to be free of their bind,
Free to flow further along the path they’re upon to see what adventure awaits in kind.
Finally they grasp a momentary splash of perhaps illusionary freedom,
Hoping what they perceive ’tis not also sinking or seldom,
One reaches for another word, another grain of momentum,
Rising above this sludge has been nothing but excruciatingly fun.
Eventually, word by word, grain by grain of super sticky sand,
One assesses their progression to unglue their task at hand,
To discover they’ve crafted themselves into an unknown solution,
And freed themselves once again to flow further towards fruition!
The Poetic Life 2.0 