sometimes
there is nothing better to listen to
then the humming rush of my inner thoughts
blended with the whoosh of wind coming through
the window from the open road
the scrape of my pen against the page
moving so quickly that some words get smudged
but that’s just a small thing
does an artist ever know silence?
I think of the busy noise of creativity
as my strange lullaby
what about those sounds, uncommon
unwavering, staggered and often
misheard – the thumping of my heart
within the realms of my flesh, the writer
and the rest, the noise of the world
white, static, and unanticipated
sometimes, there is nothing better

Photo provided by: unsplash-logoJonatan Pie