I've got a load of dishes in,
The laundry's spinning round.
The books are piled on the couch,
Yet to the page I'm bound.
No more pens and ink, my friends,
No more bound lined pages.
It's me and screen and all these keys,
Tumbling mind word sages.
I close my eyes, I know it's late,
I've only this precious hour
To record the picture I can see:
The ocean's mighty power.
There's a wave of words and phrases,
Coming toward me on the shore--
My fingers stumble, my eyes open,
I still see my tiled floor.
I can hear them now, the cyclone
Of characters who wish to be,
Their voices sailing inland
On winds too rough to free.
Stay and see them through, my friend,
Or wait another day?
The moon is high and I've not time
To keep the practical at bay.
No comments:
Post a Comment