The Search
Many a night I cast my gaze,
towards a distant star.
To try and find the perfect phrase,
the mind will travel far.
A midnight dream can help inspire,
the poet's inner light.
But dreams soon fade and expire,
when woken from the night.
Nature's beauty brings love to bare,
when seen by artist's eyes.
Words the poet writes only dare,
hold the muse that God supplies.
With pen in hand I chase the words,
that float on clouds of thought.
And all the words I try to herd,
only few I've ever caught.
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