A Million Ideas, Not Enough Time
They come like rain on windowpanes,
A flicker, flash—then gone again.
A whisper caught on morning’s breath,
A spark that lives a moment, then death.
A sentence blooms behind my eyes,
Then fades beneath the weight of skies.
I chase the tail of one bright flame,
But lose ten more I cannot name.
They flood like stars I can’t contain,
Too many thoughts to ever chain.
I write in haste, my fingers race,
But ink can’t match the mind’s own pace.
A story sings in the breeze,
A poem hides in rustling trees.
A dialogue in café clatter,
A world in every quiet matter.
And still, the clock keeps ticking on—
Another dusk, another dawn.
Pages bare and hearts too full,
A life of scribbles, half and whole.
So let them come, both loud and small,
Though I can’t ever catch them all.
For what is art, if not the try—
To hold the wind before it flies?
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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