Mind saturated, pen dropped, ink stopped, inspiration blocked.
The wind rises, the gales push, the heart stops, the water thumps
Gone are the whispers of the clear blue muses of my mind.
I must forgo them and embark on a journey through the valley of the nine.
Go beyond the valley and into the desert of my mankind.
So that cosmos and the stars within may finally realign.
And in the scattered remains of the past therein I will find the future muses of my mind.
Be they clear blue or red deep they are the fruits and the wine of my vines.
Draped in the chameleon disguise, but underneath all the same; A reflection of myself on the pound and the mirror of my self.
The wind stops, the gales drop, the heart beats, the water stills
Mind free, pen in hand, ink flowing, inspiration abundant.
The bubbles stay afloat.