Poem: Playing

Playing

I feel wrong taking time
for such wonders
when there is work
that is to be done,
taking time to play
with ideas uncertain,
but others see
only play, not
what is beneath,
and I do not know
if what I seek
will be found,
so I doubt too,
wish I were doing
something real,
with results,
not just seeking,
crafting away
in hopes to make
what is in my hand
the same as
what is already
within my mind.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Writer's Notebook, Day Two-Hundred-And-Fifty

Le Guin, Steering The Craft, Chapter Five: Adjectives and Adverbs (Exercise Five, Chastity)

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-Fifty-Nine