Musing Mind of Wanderingdeerpoet

I am the answer I am the question And sometimes I am just … Blank. Blank pages, canvas, screen Will the words come to me? Will I know what they mean? Will they share their grace? Have me shed a tear or put a smile Upon my face? When inspiration strikes It’s like lightning from the skies Flashing as a bolt before my eyes And I am a vision A voice wondering in the desert sands Will the story find me And give itself to the writer’s waiting hands?

I am surrounded by liars Drowning in their version of the truth I am knee deep in reality Stealer of my ambitions, hopes and youth I am walking on the coals Feet burnt, still burning to their soles I am left wanting, forever wanting Filling up but eternally empty, falling I am a tale better left untold.

So, is this a poem? Or merely a gripe about a real life pain in the ass we experienced the other night? A small scare of mundane life Told by a slightly poetic (needing to complain about it) housewife- So I sent the boy to walk the mutt Up, up the yard she went to do her have-to-pee puppy strut- Right after to dark (only 8:45 at night) All fenced in, so big deal, right? Not a hard chore for a boy of eleven years old A nicety for me, he sweetly does as he's told- Then a scream! For his sake we'll say ... it was a small manly yell ("YIPE") He comes in breathless, swearing there's a man Peaking in the bedroom windows Tall skinny body type- A hoodie, running fast on sight Up the hill into the night- (But is it a joke? a young boy's hype?) Dad and granddad close at hand Ran out with flashlights to see this "Mystery Man." Darkness. At this point we are all wondering why Why didn't we ever fix that light-...