I often write of things that hurt
Sometimes,not always, the murmurs within,
The joys also that life imparts,
And the feelings..
I often think of what might be,
Dreams and goals,of hope to achieve,
Maybe I delve into fantasy..
But never the meanings!
Yet now I write and know not why
The script unfolds of its own accord,
In wine, and in fine-print,I can’t deny,
The truth there-in!