Sometimes, I have to get away from it all,
forget about the daily commitment to write;
sometimes, I just want to think of only Fall,
the autumn colors, the wind's sharp bite.
days when there is nothing better to do,
than relax, put on some music for the mood;
who was it that said, to thy own self be true?
is it too much aloofness, is it too rude?
there is always certain things to get done,
appointments to be kept, places to go;
but don't forget to stop and have some fun,
take time off, meditate, take things slow.
there's escapism in a lengthy, written book,
there is happiness in taking time to dream;
there's enchantment in your lover's look,
and nothing's as serious as it seems.
I will take this rainy day, read some poetry,
listen to the music that I know and love;
with whatever comes my way, I'll let it be,
sailing on the wings of an imaginary dove.
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Comments about this poem (Escape. by David Lessard )
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