Writing by Peter Hilton


A poem by C. Robert Hilton.

When I first toddled to the garden gate
And saw the road was curved, I had to go,
Spurred by an instinct, probably innate,
To see what lay beyond. I had to know.

It always seems there’s something out of sight,
Just round the corner, if I could see more.
What causes déjà vu that guides me right
In places I have never been before?

Are things elusive because I’m obtuse,
Or is the Muse herself somewhat arcane?
I wish I knew some magic to seduce
And coax her to express herself in plain.

The waking dreams I cannot recall.
The insight that could clarify it all.

©2008 C. R. Hilton

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