poem

  • A Writers Lullaby.

    Minutes turn into hours, but now it’s been days. Drifting through dreamscapes in mystical ways. Weeks become months, it’s all but a haze. Walls made of ivy, a pathway untamed. Adventures and risks, who needs structure that pays? Through otherworldly forests, where mythic creatures stray. Leading to kingdoms of magic unnamed. A fairytale realm where Read more