The Comfort Of Creation
Vacations Are On Demand In The Mind
Dusty old room
Lamp on a desk
The writer's loom
rests statuesque
Metal and plastic
Ink and paper
Nothing too drastic
Just creating next caper
Empty coffee pot
Now percolating more
Never ending knock
On inspirations door
The Hour's getting late
My Eyes begin to blur
There is Nothing less at stake
Than ill-inspired words
Each letter plucks a string
Tugging on the writer’s heart
In hopes the muse will bring
The page's missing part
Then the muse begins to speak
While at the page I stare
My mind is leaking ink
Words, out of thin air
This quiet music of my heart
Played on a page of prose
Breathes new life in works of art
New worlds to quell my woes.
About the Creator
Adam Shultz
Writer, designer, and musician. I like to write in multiple genres.
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