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Alone with my thoughts
I cavort with my muses
to recover the inspiration
that has been so elusive of late.
With pen at the ready, I wait
for word play to surge like flood gates
have been opened.
I pray like sowed seed
for this drought to be broken
allowing thoughts to flourish,
to nourish dry sheets with wet ink
like parched earth –
letting each word I birth sink into its fibers,
creating a record.
A snapshot in time
preserving a piece of my mind.
Recognizing my efforts
as if they have some intrinsic value to humanity.
But maybe that’s just my vanity speaking –
My ego’s fear of being forgotten
as if I was never here.
Because what I hold dear
is what I will never see
with my own eyes:
That being my own legacy prized
in the future.
Recommended reading
for learning institutions
discussed at poetry club meetings and the like.
A lofty place to set my sights upon.
I don’t know if that’s right or wrong,
but it’s honest.
-HymnAgen
