By the Windowsill
Sometimes I
lie awake at night
with the world in my head
yet nothing to write.
I watch the stars
from the windowsill
and think and wonder
and wait until
I have lines
and a pretty rhyme
and nothing to waste
but silent time
as all the words
slip from my soul
and into the sky
because I can't control
my own hands.
My own mind.
I've the sweetest thoughts
but I cannot find
the language to share
all the things I see
in plain places and people
and memory.
Oh, it keeps me up
as I search and seek
for a way to give
the world a peek
into golden skies
and a wonderland
with nothing more
than the pen in my hand.
I write it out,
again, again,
but the message that
I try to send
falls shorter
than it sometimes seems,
like all my quickly-fading
dreams.
lie awake at night
with the world in my head
yet nothing to write.
I watch the stars
from the windowsill
and think and wonder
and wait until
I have lines
and a pretty rhyme
and nothing to waste
but silent time
as all the words
slip from my soul
and into the sky
because I can't control
my own hands.
My own mind.
I've the sweetest thoughts
but I cannot find
the language to share
all the things I see
in plain places and people
and memory.
Oh, it keeps me up
as I search and seek
for a way to give
the world a peek
into golden skies
and a wonderland
with nothing more
than the pen in my hand.
I write it out,
again, again,
but the message that
I try to send
falls shorter
than it sometimes seems,
like all my quickly-fading
dreams.