In distant dreams
the muse
will

Come read to
me some
poem

Words soon forgotten
upon eyes
opening.

I create this
just to
prove,

I can launch
bright words,
forms

on pixilated paper
that mean
naught.

In my zest
nothing is
sacred.

Yet I hesitate
before I
begin

Because one words
should have
meaning

Before they escape
to the
sun

And the moon
and the
stars.

Then I realize
with vibrant
jubilation

That to do
this little
bit

Is a start.
I beam
YES!

In silent lucidity,
my muse
returns…