I really can’t decide if this is absolutely dreadful, or just very bad, along with all the other stuff I throw into a haphazard pile that I reluctantly refer to as ‘my poetry’.

It results from a post from dVerse requesting thoughts about vacations and naturally conjuring up thoughts of exotic destinations sipping cocktails under an endless sky and watching a perfect sunset over a distant horizon.

But the fact is that I barely leave the house these days (believe it or not, though, I used to get about the planet quite a bit) and am more inclined to hide from the world in a book. So that’s the holiday I chose to tell you about, albeit fairly poorly ….

*

Getting away from it all

Little moments I recall

Little lives I re-live

Little errors, I forgive

My own mistakes.

With little breaks

From reality

Where, I see

And tell

Life works out well

In this little paper place

A smile upon my face

That lasts forever, in its way

The sorrow of tomorrow

Put off, another day

And so to play

Who knows where? And who can say?

A life of cheerful disarray

Should I care? Is it clever?

To never leave this place

This easy pace, this quiet space

This sweet embrace within the page

A timelessness for any age

And never mind what I have missed

Those girls I may have never kissed

For always there, inside the cover.

Behind the mist awaits a lover.

*