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.
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