I sit here in the nestled blankets
of a 21st century bedtime story
the waves of guitar’s fingers
crashing across me, over me, under me
I hate to say it, hate to admit it
but I think I’m waiting
for something that will never come
I’m afraid, but I guess I will have to chase it.
I wonder when I’ll crack open all the work
I never wanted to finish in the first place
I wonder when I’ll fall back into bed with my art
my imagination, my creation, a cloud’s landscape.
Engulfed in thoughts, emotions, dreams
of all the endless possibilities, what could be?