Whispered Wanderings

after Edgar Allan Poe, from “To — –”

The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand
and I, I close my eyes at the sight,
as if I cannot bear the loss
of another unwritten word.

Still – my frozen heart belies a secret joy
that though unwritten,
those same words claim their power,
create hidden landscapes deep within

that pull me under their spell
as I become a grateful captive,
lost in a multitude of
potentialities, and in the wonder of it all.

And wandering, this kind of lost
has always been my one true path to Self.
And if words will not be written with a pen,
I know they shall be written on my heart.

klm
1/17/25

*I haven’t posted in a bit I know. January overtime at work is brutal. But I’m still writing every day!