Magical mist that I can't resist that visits me each morn.
Devine intervention of poetic prose, somehow seeps into my mind.
An elegant balance of rhythem and rhyme that lazily drifts away with the time.
Like pollen that drifts from plants in the air, lands foolishly where nobody can share.
An incessant need to get some more sleep.
No natural recording of memory to keep.
A foolish desire to write in the wind.
Prophetic recanting the God's just rescind.
I wonder if anybody believes.
My morning madness that slumber retrieves.
I'm not too sure myself if I trust.
These visits I get from my dawning dust.