BOUND… a poem

silver pen on white paper

Hosts of pages litter the floor

Crumpled little dreams tossed by the wayside

Imagination sees while translations lack the fortitude

Where is the elusive muse

Who can coax nimble fingers

Into releasing these bound tales?

MY MUSE… a poem

brown wooden footbridge surrounded by pink petaled flowers with creek underneath during daytime

A lifetime of memories

And even some regrets

I took it to the limit

But, I wasn’t quite done yet

You see I’ve got this little itch

That keeps me moving on

To find the next adventure

Yeah, in this life and beyond

A lofty goal

That’s fair to say

But how can I refuse

There’s something just so comforting

When talking to my muse

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