One more last page.
One more closed book.
I’ve said it all before.
I’m never on the hook.
If only I could write,
every thought at light speed,
perhaps then the pages,
wouldn’t be worth a re-read.
Until then the seas,
and sun and moon,
the stars,
serve as my guides,
my only prison bars.
So one last page,
and one more new book.
I’m nowhere near done,
keep on the “out” look.
I haven’t even started.
Wordsmith of Sol 