Dry Cauldrons

Some days I feel as if there is something inside of me that needs to get out. 
Some compulsion I cannot name, nagging me. 
An alarm I cannot silence reminding me there is something I need to do, 
need to say, need to write down . . .
The urge to create when the creative cauldrons are dry.

I cannot get it out. Voices that have no words, screaming that has no sound.
Something I thought of the night before that I have forgotten. 
My mind rowing upstream against the current, trying to halfheartedly remember.
I've forgotten how it feels—or have I ever felt it before?
Some days I feel as if I know nothing at all.

But some days, too,

the rains come

flooding.