So, ironically enough, I'm procrastinating a horrid English essay as I type this. I can't help but think this essay looks like I just ranted all over the place because I'm having the end of semester blues, and just want to go back to writing YA Vampire novels, like a normal person. That's most likely my main problem for filling five pages with clichés, simplified claims, and quotes that could easily fill up a page. Yet I've also been feeling dull and un-inspired due to constantly sitting at my desk, seeing the same five pictures, the same pillow pet that makes it almost impossible to not want to nap, and the same lamp with dangly things that would make any "attention defecit ooh shiny!" disordered sort want to procrastinate up the wazzoo.
Would this not keep you from writing all day long? |
It's never going away, but I won't always be there when I need it |
The quietest to demand attention,
the Sleeping Giant stretches his nose
into soft cotton ball clouds.
He settles into the Ponderosa’s sigh,
lets her branches tickle him into deep
slumber.
A patient rest, no shifting positions,
he sniffs the clouds’ hopeful scent of rain,
for the browning grass to soak,
for the crickets to drink,
as they happily chirp with the sun’s rays.
The pink rays glide across the giant’s forehead,
sinks into the crevices of sister mountains,
until only suggestion of color mists onto the moon.
Giant bids goodnight--
to Long’s Peak, to the weary hikers,
stomping to the base for rest and awe
at the thousand year dance led by the
mighty push of glaciers.
Blanketed by the sheath of black sky,
Giant sleeps.
Awakened by no force of movement,
his sighs sent into the tranquil forest.
He sleeps.
For now, I'll have to ponder this inner versus outer inspiration in the walls of my dorm room. But I hope to eventually trek back through the mountains to add some more natural writing into my repertoire.
Peace and ponies,
Kira
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