My heart's napping against the will of my desire. I wish to work but the brain's dry, nourished heart's made up her mind. Both are convinced it's only fair yet enormously royal and wise. If only my stone of a stone heart would give me the pleasure to paint even the faintest of grins on my face as I put down the pen.
The grimmace of the heart bribed even the eyes to retire for the night. I wish not to dreamingly gaze at the sky shadowing but to dream shades for my blank pages. If only I could bank the clock's work, I would in time of need turn to the stored.
My pleasure's been extinguished and my heart plans not to rekindle it and so I lay in wait hoping not morning would find me but that I fish words from my blood before they drown in the night.
I lay and I wait. I wait and I wait and I wake; yesterday's gone.
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This blog is for fun, it's just the crazy, layed back Nande.
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