A pen in hand
A blank notebook page
No right or wrong
No boundaries
And I fly--not I soar
With all the time in the world
With every reason to write
Though soon it is filled
Though abundant in thought
And I cry--no I morn
For all has vanished
For my winds have disfigured
In the climax of my work
In an abrupt halt
And I'm crushed--no I'm torn
By my discordant mind
By ideas wrapped in silence
Be the release from my physche
Be my friend and my shelter
Nothing impressive--nothing more
