A quiet room, a comfortable chair,
A gentle light that has no glare,
A sharpened pencil, pages, ink,
Reference books to help you think.

A writer's comfort in this place
Takes flight, as his mind will race
To distant lands; another time
Creating images so sublime.

Experiencing beauty, love, desire,
Igniting flames, his soul's afire.
Freedom at last, time can't erase,
These images meet him face-to-face.

Speeding onward, through the glen,
Across the valley, around the bend,
To mountain peaks, to distant shore,
Finding life, and love, and even more.

Ecstatic joy, or sorrow's gloom,
And yet he hasn't left this room.
Words illuminate; dreams encase
The comfortable chair in the writer's space.

Karen©
1-31-05
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