Sometimes the Door Blows Open

I must admit,

There are times sitting at my writing desk

That I stare out the window

And wait for the world to come

Blowing in through it,

So I won’t have to make

The effort.

Some days

I leave my literary chateau to

Go traipsing into the wilderness

To find story fabric

And come back with nothing

But mud on my boots.

But sometimes…


My friend,

The front door goes

Swinging off its hinges

And in comes the poetry

I’ve been waiting for,

And I become the person

You all think

I am.

But in between those moments

And the rest of my life

I sink back into the shadow

That wanders the

Realm of my imagination,

Searching for the poet

That hides in my soul

And occasionally spews

Fragments of wisdom

Onto paper.

To what places

Have you wandered,

Beloved muse?

Come out, come out,

Wherever you



2 thoughts on “Sometimes the Door Blows Open

Thoughts? I love those.

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