Left-handed smudges moving across an empty sheet of paper
Tentative words emerging from the charcoal clouds of #2 lead
Unfiltered, unrehearsed thoughts forming on the page,
Un-beholden to rules that constrict and deprive free thought.
First drafts are like the brief moments after awakening
When dreams seem more real than reality
They are like peering through the clouds as the plane descends
And catching the first glimpse of land below
First drafts, like the colostrum from a mother’s breast
Are filled with nutrients that stimulate the budding soul.
By Amy Jones