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THE WRITER'S EYE
(Goebel)
He sits and ponders with a pen
His eyes gaze out the window
Scribbled sheets lie at his feet
The teapot starts to whistle
His toes indulge the rug below
His brow shows every line
Fingers run through his graying hair
Wondering what happened to time
Images conjure in his spirit
Some he just can't write
His spectacles are dimmed with a mist
He can't focus on life
Ideals and issues are not in his game
But pure imagination
From the first line we read we have in our head
The feeling that silence is golden
(Chorus)
In the Write's Eye, there's a side we never see
Reading words of fiction away from reality
In the Writer's mind is a place we'll never know
Blinded by stories to write as they grow old
The pages have become a blur
And I'm running out of time
I've never felt so much despair
And all within my mind
I'm lost within the realms I write
Both my hands are tied
Inspiration hits the floor
A part of me has died
The writer is a child at heart
On life's merry-go-round
With a dash of ink his wooden horse
Gallops from the carousel
To continue his books he reads afar
Looking in the pool of life
As the ripples clear, the water reflects
A boy who's flying his kite
(Chorus)
(c)1988 Glacier