This poem is about those whose inspiration to write poetry has left them. Their minds go blank for a while. It is not until something; they know not what, inspires them to write again. It is as if they have just come out of hibernation. They are hungry, yet their minds are once again filled with new ideas.
Hibernation
It is time; the long sleep is over,
and thoughts must awake and
arise from the shingled bed of
their long dormant minds.
Like the hushed surge of an
incoming tide, refreshed by
recent rains and warmed by
the instinctive motivation to
write again.
Not for the praise of man nor
of the God’s, but to take up the
pen and write, to re live; no, to
create once again poems whose
beauty are in words set out in
tuneful order.
Or to meander wherever their
course takes them. To join with
others, permeating with the torrent
of surging intense power of the
unwritten.
As the uncontainable billows of
eloquent minds; of all who venture
forth once again from a self induced
hibernation of a non-existent winter.
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