This afternoon I decided that it has been far too long since I did any creative writing, so I jotted down the following poem. No prizes for guessing who it’s about.
She rolls her rollerball, an inch a time
Patiently placing notes on the score, Gradually composing. Generating sounds.
New, exotic, and yet rhythmic.
Meticulously making music, building up beats
Unruly hands fidgeting with effort and concentration.
It’s an Herculean effort of creativity;
Yet, every day she rolls back(wards) into her studio, and hours later there comes out a sublime beauty, the type of which I have never before heard or seen.