Today's prompt was to write a poem in which we are sorry, but not really, for something we stole.
The Poet's Apologia
I have stolen ideas, too many to mention.
Plucked from the air, the sky's blue telling
or what a tree whispers to the wind.
Unpicked golden threads from ordinary days
to embroider my vision; moonlight fruit
from the garden of reading.
Like a magpie, on the lookout for silver loot
and let its shine glint in my eye.
Lined my nest with the borrowed blue
of robins eggs; hatchlings of thoughts
cradled until they are mine.
A phrase, here, and there - caught in a net
and set to paper, transcribed treasure.
And I have been a thief of time,
stealing minutes and hours
whittling away at words, oblivious of when.
I have stolen the sun from the sky
and placed it in your eyes, so when I look now
at my verse, the rhymes blind.