These thoughts are clouds in my head
before ideas form and hail
Their pressure means I am not dead
and I can still try leave a trail
The trail that would prove to all
that I don’t live my life in vain
There should be something to recall
and something graceful to remain
I need to catch that fleeing Muse
Over the rocking thunder
I must create! I must produce!
What can it be, I wonder
A book? A child? An invention?
A cure? A star? A new design?
I need divine intervention
Will I receive a special sign?
Time’s limited, so are resources
Excuses are not: in full galore
My thoughts are just like restless horses
and they will always run for more
there will never be enough
but I can still control the rein
Instead of thinking I can laugh,
Switch off my silly little brain.
Yes, I am thinking
© Copyright: Энн Маккензи, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114112100675
Свидетельство о публикации №114112100675
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