Wandering In Myself

With pen and paper I sit here and wander, what there is that I could possibly ponder worth writing for someone to read. Waterfalls with sunlight cascading, with the mists twisting their way through a green canopy to the south as I look at the panoramic view from a rock ledge, on a stone face hundreds of feet up. Lying down, broken and confused, lyrical thoughts pass harmonicly, landing within reach of the parchment its inked on, lasting long enough to get a verse or two. Letting ones mind race and wander, learning the art of insanity, loving nothing with a heart of stone loathing not having someone to write about.