Tracks of a Wandering Mind

Poetry, stories and random thoughts from a wandering mind.


(Free verse about what writers do most of the time.)

Long nights, sitting, thinking,
Waiting for my pen to move,
Anticipating the next word,
Next thought or verse.

Listening to the clock,
Its remorseless ticking
Ever the steadfast reminder
Of wasted moments now long gone.

Tempus fugit, now a curse
As I wait, breathless,
For a word to appear,
For the Muse to visit me.


August 8, 2011 - Posted by | Poetry |

1 Comment »

  1. I sense a sleepless night, one of frustration exacerbated by the need to just close your eyes with blissful sleep. I wish when these nights happen that your muse would indeed visit. However it never works that way. Never to appear out of need, but rather out of chance. There is difficulty in discriminating serendipity from other manifestations of creativity. I wish you rest and sleep so that you may discover your muse again.

    Comment by heartspurs | August 8, 2011 | Reply

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