While her mind wandered off into the abyss
The quill in her hand moved,
As if with a leash.
Mysteries and wonders, her mind had found,
The quill accepted, as if it was bound.
The wonders flowed into the quill.
They were but many,
They will form a mountain or a hill.
The quill was just small.
The vastness of the wonders,
The small quill, cannot contain it all.
Alas, from its tip, they burst.
The wonders went out, forced.
They overflowed...
And were splashed into the parchment,
As shards and shards of words.
She gasped at the beauty,
The quill had made.
But was it the quill,
That made it real?
Or was it her mind,
That forever wanders,
And always ready to sail?
Hi this is for sleepypanda_ for the undying support for my works!!hahaha..And for painstakingly making my awesome covers...I can't dedicate because I'm using a phone :(...And this is also for all the writers out there, and their wandering quills!!!!Cheers to us writers! Hehehehe
YOU ARE READING
Green Meadows
PoetryLife is a green meadow where green grasses grow. Some are tall bushes; some are just short weeds. No matter the length, no matter the size. Each one has a story; each one has roots. All are rooted to the humble earth, and all are under the radiant s...
