Gone with a Whim

Thoughts come upon me,
quickly these days.
Like smoke in a daydream,
indistinct in the haze.

I capture them sometimes,
and hold on fast.
To create an idea meantime,
and hope that it lasts.

A story may emerge,
a poem or a joke.
I dare not tarry.
I dare not choke.

For these whims of fancy,
are flighty at best.
Will be gone in an instant,
if I let them rest.

So I take up my pen,
figuratively, that is.
And jot down the thought,
before it goes, fizz.

Like the carbon dioxide,
escaping an abandoned Coke.
Like a mystery unraveling,
still hidden under a cloak.

So I scooped this one up,
before my eyes grow dim.
And captured it, before,
it was gone with a whim.

Fleeting Whim

Fleeting Whim

I often find myself these days in a daydream
state with thoughts floating around my mind
that need to be captured and put into form.

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Copyright 2017 © Ronald W. Hull


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