There are so many times I’ll be lying in my bed, And this always happens on nights when I need my rest, I’ll be thinking about you and all that you’ve said, And a rhyme or a poem will start to form in my head, It will
Oh to be trapped in a library, With nothing to do but read When my troubles for each day, Are eyes that no longer see, Hours spent but never wasted, Words not bound by lock or key, Propped up against the shelves, Whether sitting or on my knees, I'
I sat up in my chair, a slight surge of energy surfacing from some unknown storage cell within. Fighting off the relentless pull of slumber, I allowed myself a moment to find my bearings and send the message I had been typing moments earlier. It was late, somewhere near 3:
Once I was walking though the woods, the sunlight shining through the trees making everything come to life around me. As I neared a clearing, I saw a bridge spanning a shallow ravine with a small creek running through it. The water played a sweet tune as it drifted past,
The mexican smiles, Not at actions of his peers, But quirks of his own.
Miles from home again, Memories and starry nights, Make the ride complete.