Writer’s Reverie


Famous writers and the thinkers got some of their finest ideas from walks. I’m a writer myself, so I see how this applies.


Borne of summer strolls untold

Into evenings where countless stories unfold

The road ahead was void of cars

And I alone played an orchestra to the stars


They shined their blessings from celestial seats

Meanwhile, I looked beyond perennial streets

Pondering clues for my desired path

For answers to a writer’s insatiable wrath


A scent, a sight, a cricket in the stillness rang

And suddenly, my own image, out it sprang

It lived, it breathed, it wandered like me

But would a cold-stone world accept it with the same glee?


I still haven’t caught the muse hiding in evening black

But it’s time I head home and turn back

The gravel below crunched, but it wasn’t me

For I walk the footsteps of another, you see…



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