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Creative Mind
Wobbling of crow's wings,
I hear
As I am pushing up against the sun.
The clouds are low today
And the wind blows the lakes
Into wavering blankets.
I walk up a lonely river,
To get to the house
Where I wait for my imagination
To take me back out
I see taunting visions of
Barreled vaulted ceilings
And Lancelot
And long, lengthy green labyrinths
And it never feels real enough
How do I get out?
critic
I'm not really a critic. However, I enjoyed this read. Sometimes it is real hard to get out of the labyrinth. The imagery you created has sent me straight into it.
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