There are times

There are times when I am surrounded by all that is not illustrious,

When bonds and chains shackle me to the grounds of this-worldly things,

Duties and livelihoods consuming my mind, the Muse is stifled by my own will.

In my mental journey I must fly from there into the cedar descent from trees,

Where bonny red and yellow leaves, fall around the oaks and aspens,

Weeping Willows stream their chorus and trickle into the stream.

But somehow I am curled up into the base of a tree,

Furry boots encompass my tender toes, and gloves bind my hands,

But my hand writes, my words paint into the musings of my mind,

And the Muse paints the image I reside in.

Poetry, my mind asks, my mind engages, my mind encounters,

The word, the meaning, the life, the musing melody,

Musing maybe it is time to live the melody,

Maybe live the tender embrace of noon time fall day

Maybe August, October melodies of fallen leaves and whistling wind

Beckon me to seek some Higher Power of passion and melody

But maybe my mind escapes me and imagination dominates

But for a while, whose time passing day did decree time would allow,

For time's sad predicament of passing by all the time

Did still leave it time to be in me, for now.