Challenge
Nothing
What is it? Does it exist at all?
Why Do I Create?
Why?
Why does a blank page
beckon me,
compel me
to mar the unblemished
with writings embellished
or serious or amusing
or one of my sundry musings?
Why?
Why do figures of speech
seek me,
call me
like an eager schoolboy
who wants an attaboy
for using his way to pass
or be recognized in class?
Why?
Why does theprose.com
intrigue me,
entice me
to enter a challenge
or write a word salad?
Do I do it for a few likes,
to test my literary pipes?
Why?
Why do the answers
elude me,
puzzle me?
Is defining creativity
the stuff of subjectivity?
With nothing in sight,
I guess I’ll just write.
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