Saturday, September 1, 2012

Of Fancy

The pages full and all alone,
To sit and wonder.
Find Myself.
So lost.
Too different and apart from them;
Isolated in my mind
Where wondrous things endure.
To peek into the nether world
Where things are colder,
Locked in frigid normalcy.
Yet inspired to such tales
As might break the fretting soul.
So to write, ever on
And keep the rest a'hiding.
Let them play unending notes,
Unmoving to myself.
Each too flat to lift such thoughts.
Other songs entrance me more,
Sung as they were in places
Only of the brain and pen.
Alas, that such might come again!
One to match this fount of mirth,
Sprung beneath a dancing star.
Though here we sit
With none to walk
Into the lands of flight and farce.

©2012, MLowe. All Rights Reserved.

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