Skipping Rocks of Worry

By the river skipping rocks
Is where I spend the currency of my worries and toss them with a devilish grin.
By the river today is where I frame this not so much rhyme of days.
A lady of the lake is downstream, but to the redhead I still must have a random mindful glance.
I buy a drink, strum my pen, and sing a lyric in my head in her honor.
We cannot all be poets or great performers on a stage, we can only own our inspiration and eventually sell it away.
Shakespeare somehow chiming in as a player,
But I am only what I write.
I hear my mole skin begging for more,
But tonight the charm is all but gone.
I skip a smooth granite rock from years ago and scribble some deeper lines.
I feel some passion in my soul as a full moon guides my walk.
Season after season the years just seem to melt away.
A summer rain represents tears for the lake that is waiting patiently.
I am the jagged edge of a rock smoothed by hesitation to the future, And the voice to my lines you will still hear flowing downstream.

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