In the quiet stillness where daydreams play,
Ideas can come tiptoeing, dancing your way.
Don’t rush through the silence, plugging the gap,
For stories are often waiting inside of that nap.
The wastelands look empty, just dirt and some weeds,
But oh, they are fertile for planting new seeds.
A thought may pop up as you’re tying your shoe,
A story that whispers, “I’ve been here for you.”
When walking or waiting or stuck in a chair,
A spark may ignite from the stillness that’s there.
So treasure the pauses, the moments of rest,
For that’s when your mind can be weaving its best.
Grab every whisper, each flicker, each gleam.
Collect them and cherish each fragment and dream.
Your wasteland is really a wellspring in disguise,
A playground of wonder, a gift for creative eyes.
So where are your wastelands, those quiet, still spots—
The drama in your day and the unused plots?
Go linger there often. Let your mind paint brightly.
Those moments for creativity shouldn’t be taken lightly.
