Ivy

If you’re wondering
Where my writing comes from:
I lie in bed
And read a book.
I keep reading 
Until my imagination
Latches onto a sentence,
Or a word,
Or an image;
Like ivy
Creeping up a wall.
An idea sneaks into my mind
And settles down
Before scattering little dots
Of imagination
All over the floor.
Then I’m gone.
It saddens me a little
That I don’t put pen 
To paper
But thumbs to a screen.
But it’s my little piece of work
And that’s what’s important.
And somebody keeps reading
And that makes me happy.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s