There is a book inside of me that struggles to be free,
It’s waiting and waiting and waiting just for me.
To shut out the world and sit myself right down,
To find the words that wait patiently, desperate to be found.
But I am always so busy, doing this and doing that,
Writing silly poems about myself and Basura Cat.
I prepare for hours the music lessons I teach,
Hoping that just one student, I may finally reach.
I feel the time is coming; and soon it will be,
Just the words, the moon, Basura cat and me.
The stories half written will grow so very tall,
I hardly have the time to listen to them all.
Words ring and they sing, they dance in the light,
Words are my best friends, both day and both night.
It is my dream to capture them and roll them in a ball,
I must, I must, I must answer the call.
So, if I pardon myself, please forgive my leave,
There are words inside of me, struggling to breathe.
Who knows how long the journey, from beginning to the end?
Take a pause, take a breath and put paper to the pen.
