Forever Tapping

Once more consumed by romantic dream;
In a bubble, drifting, through worlds unseen.
Onwards, searching, amaranthine plight;
To ponder, tap, to ever-write.

An incandescent canvas, an empty room;
I stare, transfixed, in outward gloom.
The steam uplifts from a mug of tea;
Brewed anew to comfort me.

But in contemplation now, my vision blurs;
That wretched tapping my conscience errs.
A din hypnotic, the writer’s narcotic;
But obdurate words, keep streaming chaotic.

A distant sound of joy and cheer;
Children’s laughter, breaks through the drear.
The words I wrote, no more contrived;
And on I venture, my heart revived.

The pendulum within is ever swinging;
From ardent wonder, to bleakness dimming.
But I’m a writer, and write I must;
Ever seeking, in that dream I trust.