Nomad Writer

I am kept from the pen —

Tossed in a writhing mass of faces

Blurred in a monochrome haze

Faces I must smile at

Lips pulled stiff with zombified emotion

As they filter through white halls

Dragging luggage stuffed with expectation

To lounge in our tropical paradise

Leaving the sillage of continental winds

To drift like rain clouds

Fogging my head

And there isn’t a quiet moment

Where I can sink within myself

Coaxing my thoughts to emerge

Like timid children from the shadows

Such pensive minutes

Dissolve under sleep’s duress

Arresting every muscle in an inert surrender

Smothering my mind in blackness

Where I see and feel nothing

But I’ll find the time

Through these grueling hours

To keep my flame alive

And ink flowing through my veins