The shelves speak verses. As hands and minds can’t comprehend, “where to begin,” A shutter of silence, infinite inquiry into an immense world of the unknown.
A play land for the mind, a dream for the mind to dream in its own composure.
Can my hands cramp, in all it’s entirety? where pens aren’t needed and candle lit desktops
Where brief sighs and coughs echo between isles through one ear and out the other a calm music a relaxing tune a slew of mishaps to open imaginative
My mind flutters from one title to the next soak up and enjoy to be sponged out later where the inspiration and influence will become my own work
Where my pen will outline my fingers and touch my mind to creative emotion and sew the seams of the seemingly impossible to invoke connections where thought couldn’t be and to write from the heart for everybody to see