I wish that I could leave a journal
and pen by my bedside table
so that when I woke from sleep
I could jot down my dreams
but I rarely remember them
unless they are frightening
and I flee from them
to the waking world
instead I daydream
and make up stories
and on occasion I manage
to tell a story
that is inspiring to others
or so they tell me
there have been stories
of strange, enchanting lands
where the people sleep
beguiled by the lotus
there have been stories of bold heroes
with torsos bulging with muscles
alluring maidens who wait for the hero
or go off on their own quests
a devious villain to antagonize
the hero or heroine
what is incomparable
is not the pleasure of writing
because it’s not just play
I work at it
more than I care to admit
but the joy of reading
what others have created
and I take immeasurable pleasure
in reading the comments
on what I’ve written
that is what is incomparable
the kinship of readers and writers
none of whom are my actual kin
just kindred spirits
/ / /
This poem was written in response to the Incomparable prompt at Writer’s Island, using the words from Wordle 8 at The Sunday Whirl.
Addendum: This poem also works for the cocktail of words prompt at We Write Poems.