My friend, Stephan, asks me
If I have been working
On my novels
But I have to tell him
That life too often
Gets in the way
And that I must sneak
The words in
Under her watchful eye
And although she does not
Mean to be cruel
Life makes even
The happiest home a gulag
Of silent pain
Where the only relief
Comes in simple verse
And metered rhyme is
Is an extravagance
I cannot afford
So my novels will wait
Until I can give life pause
And escape to the shadows
Into that distant place
Where time itself
Will supplant life
And imagination will
Supplant breath

©2022 Kevin Fraleigh