Literary Hills
In the rolling meadow
I spot a lass
with long crimson hair,
watching me
with a pen in her mouth.
Stuck on a thought
of something unconstrude
her eyes catch mine,
showing me the depths
of blue icy lakes,
and momentarily,
trapping the power
of my mind.
Releasing the beauty
of color,
and creation
in me once again.
I grab my pencil
out of the air
and start scribing
my love on the hills.
As the thoughts keep flowing,
my pencil starts smoking
from the flurry of words
rushing out so fast
that I am glad
the pristine landscape
keeps rolling,
so I may
inlay it
with my poetry.
As I get
to a sandy road,
I look back
into those changing pools of blue,
she still sits there
with her pen in her mouth,
and I get flustered
by her prismatic sensuality,
then watch my idea flicker away.
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