Preoccupied Communicator

Solitary writer My instruments here before me In my hands For my mind to roam Wandering far from home On a trip waiting to be lost Thinking to exhaust Mystery and delight Complied and adrift Floating on this desk In a imaginative spell Then in front of my eyes, a marriage of paper and pen Brought fourth in the den A story Jumped out from a blurry Knows no end When intrigue sparks a rouse Written in my prose Clear the pile And began again, Obsessing This driven race Put fourth a mistake than erase Oh the toils of the solitary writer Making me the lonely fighter