There’s a room in the between.
A room with three walls for thoughts
and an open side accepting
a wide flow of words onto the altar
where their weighed and judged
for worthiness. Years of words are
watered here in the garden of expression,
until finally harvested and released
to be viewed by others and ingested.
It’s a freedom to discover the person
within you; releasing pockets of thoughts
to be tested by the probing eyes of
Thoughts are like puzzles. Some
writers will never arrive. Some will
never know when they have.