Sitting in my home, with a pencil in hand,
Thoughts to letters, then words is my plan,
Often interesting impressions, appear in my head,
Then I ramble on until the story fades to dead.
Inside I can feel myself floating, places, voices,
Sometimes, as if the words are handed to me,
A journey into my mind, a trippy place to see,
Everything, the highest mountains, to open valleys,
Always peaceful, like standing in the sand, staring at the sea.
The Original: Tom Maxwell© 2/27/2022 AD
7:30 pm
