Away I drift, on the winds of change
no time to look behind me
the only thing keeping me afloat
are strings of haunted melody.
A thread of red, a thread of gold
woven through beads of fate
telling their own stories
in time, never late.
Here I sit, motionless
fingers on the keys
out stream flowing letters
momentarily they freeze.
A strangest thing how inspiration
catches you unaware
forces you to write
or leave a story there.
