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
“This is where I begin.”