Sleep then muse,
As my creativity dries up
Like a Berry left in the sun.
Shall I wake thee
With other past works?
Reading aloud,
As the words drip like honey.
Or maybe shall I
Go for a walk in the woods,
Hand in hand with my pen.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoesiaRandom poetry by me, sorry if it's bad. I might post a couple poems by other people.
