On a seemingly mundane September night;
A poet lay in bed, contemplating what to write.
His head was teeming, pondering the various poetic notions;
His subconscious was dreaming of rhymes filled with emotions.
Closing his eyelids, the flesh felt something enchanting;
As if starting afresh, his body began transplanting.
The journey, initially, brought visions of bliss;
Artificially induced aspects, with nothing amiss.
Yet, fear had appeared, as he approached an abyss;
Drawing near, joy
disappeared, encroached by remiss.
Descending, he declined, into the vast unknown chasm;
Contending as he twined, aghast at the unexpected phantasm.
While blind and tumbling through the dark void, he felt like
a pioneer;
Stumbling down, courage he employed, though the outcome was
unclear.
He landed on the bed of the ravine, to his surprise, so
gently.
His perception expanded, and he saw the scene differently.
Upon the surface of the expanse was a myriad of verse;
And lost in a trance, for a period, his mind he would
immerse.
He reappeared in reality, to describe the manifestation of this
magical place with his pen.
Often, he returned to that locality; to imbibe and embrace
imagination, every now and then.
Composed By: Andrew Drucker
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