To the Author Who is Writing Me

Sometimes I dream, if only on the page, of a
Prairie running as far as the eye can see and a
Stream – babbling and bouncing over rocks and roots and
A sky made just for me

Sometimes I flee a rain cloud overhead, all the while
Wishing it would softly rain on me;
That the sky would run dark if only for a moment so I could
Cry a cautioned tear

Sometimes I fly through mid-drift skies
Whirling and swirling like Dorothy finding Oz and it
Feels like just when one chapter in my life ends,
A new one bursts onto the page: mid-sentence

Sometimes my best moments begin in
Medias Res and other times
I feel like I begin at the ending
Or end at the beginning
Of some half-imagined adventure or another

Sometimes I find that the joys of life come from the
Simplest of things – a newborn’s cry, a sniff of honeysuckle,
A memory, not far off…
But in all things I give praise – glorious –
To the Author who is writing me


1 thought on “To the Author Who is Writing Me”

  1. Wow! Thank you for sharing this poem. Very enjoyable. Beautiful imagery. Uplifting. In a world that can often be so harsh, experiencing this poem was like a quiet respite in a place of no worries or concerns. To be carried away into the world of the heart. Not only within the imagery but mostly from the feelings within the poem. A writing from a gentle, kind heart. Not something that is experienced everyday.

    Liked by 1 person

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