Creative juices flow...

Like a gentle stream that comes to an island and must choose if the waters flow: left or right

Left - picking up from a gentle stream to a forceful river and thrashing over and against rocks and hard places.

Twisting and turning so much that the waves forget the direction of the flow, the final, the destination.

And Right - as the gentle stream continues it is still but a stream and all the stream can do is dream.

Flow... so gentle that a small ripple can get from one side of the water to the other but not remember the path it took to get there - making the satisfaction of a journey from beginning to end lost. In the midst of this gentle flow...

Lyrics were meant to be sung and words were meant to be spoken.

Why, then, am I fighting this dilemma to put a flow to the words and a distinction to my notes?

Why, then, do all these thoughts in my head thrash around like waves coming down on rocks instead of coming out on paper the way they were posed in my brain?

All these thoughts, and words, and lyrics - which have the potential to join together to create something beautiful, create a flow - just fade away and leave only a fragmented memory of what once was of the ideas.

Lost.

Ideas.