Image: Google images
What to do when the words dry up
When the stories become fewer and fewer.
Shall I retire to my self-made tower of illusion
Where reality twists and turns
Around invisible barriers and into multiple shades.
It’s a place where I feel safe
Away from everything threatening
Where time could, maybe, even speculate
A beginning with no ending or an ending with no beginning.
I’ll perch here a while and see if anyone notices.