Me

ME I am the writer with faraway dreams I am the poet who’s not who she seems I am the reader who lives in her books Fishing for ideas with shimmering hooks I nourish on words, the magical sounds Leaping in my brain like bouncing hounds I sleep in a web of increasing thoughts Weaving golden silk of cunning plots Diving in this fast-flowing river of words Enjoying its silver swirling herds Swimming in this mystified land Bathing in this beach of golden sand Grasping words in the Milky Way Catching streams of sunlight on a sunny day Reaching out for that single voice Singing above all the other noise Holding it tightly against my chest Returning it safely to its nest Watching it transform into a story Feeling the glow of the pride and glory I am the writer with faraway dreams I am the poet who’s not who she seems I am the reader who lives in her books Fishing for ideas with shimmering hooks