Where are my stories?
They're stored in a hand bag
Or, shall I say, a man bag?
Makes no difference; they're stored away
Waiting for another day
I don't know what day, by the way
I don't think they'll see the sight of the light
One day, they'll beam or continue to scream
While they are locked away; but maybe one day
Open the bag
Open the box
Let's see what we got
Nothing there
Nothing at all
I didn't take notice of my fall
"But you didn't fall and you didn't fail
The stories are always out there."
Where?
"Out there,"
From the moment it leaves you
And lands on the paper
Or somewhere in that supercomputer
The stories are there
They're free and wild
To every man, woman and child
Pixabay
Freewrite exercise; prompt by 