I tell myself, I will begin,
but pages wait, untouched, within.
Words keep knocking, soft and near,
yet I leave them, year to year.
Dreams have lingered, ink undone,
chased by shadows, stalled, not run.
I ask myself the reason why,
but silence answers, drifting by.
Now October calls my name,
a quiet fire, a gentle flame.
No more waiting, no disguise,
I will rise where courage lies.
Every thought will find its place,
every doubt I will replace.
Action blooms where fear has been
October is the time to begin
IRENEBOADITHEPOET.
