Seemingly those creative juices,
That for so long laid dormant,
Or more accurately ignored,
Are bubbling over,
As I purge myself of two years of built up tension,
Fresh with a new idea, every minute or more,
One would assume that on this bright spring day,
I would be cheerful,
And yet I am left,
Angry,
Disturbed,
Ashamed,
And plain as day,
For all to see,
Longing to be like the birdies flying,
Free.
SDM
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