It sounds insane how
Just one stroke
In a moment, becomes
A refined drawing.
How a single experience
Inspires a story.
How a simple tune makes
Up a catchy song.
How a blotch of colors
Form a beauteous painting.
How a person is able
To create such wonders.

I wake before the sun
So I can watch it rise
While I sip from
The warm mug in my hands.

There is a book on my lap,
But I won't read it yet,
I'll have to wait for
The sun to come up.

My pen is my transport,
My paper, my portal.
The moment they touch,
I end up somewhere else:
The late victorian age with
a story of tragic romance,
a mystical realm
with the most fantastical lore.
Perhaps the roaring twenties,
Or the age of rebirth,
Maybe classical Greece,
Or somewhere else—
It doesn't even have to exist!
I could do whatever
My heart desires
With just paper and a pen,
And some inspiration in mind...
I find true solace when I write.

Her long hair cascades upon
Her face like silv'ry threads.
Her curious eyes wander
At everything she sees.
Her mind on her head,
Her nose buried in books.
I truly never knew what
She always searched for.