Poet’s Plight

Words tumble round my head
searching for mates to copulate,
birth meaning upon the page.
Sleep eludes me as words deluge me.
May I write, please?
Spackle paper in alphabet hue.

Night remnants. Darkened window pane.
My muse flickers like candles upon the sill,
fickle handmaid of creativity.
If light begets light
perhaps dawn will quicken her step,
drawn to these sputtering flames.

Words slowly seep from pen
cursive dips and curves.
I write tentatively,
then speed the pace
racing to beat the dawn.
And then, Β I rest.



3 thoughts on “Poet’s Plight

  1. dornahainds October 7, 2017 / 1:20 pm

    Always, Splendiferous Writing! 😎😎😎πŸ₯€πŸ₯€πŸ₯€


  2. jillys2016 October 8, 2017 / 11:10 am

    Oh, you did nail what so many of us do in the world of writing. Love the view from your window, too πŸ™‚


  3. JoHanna Massey October 9, 2017 / 11:16 am

    Well said. That time just before the day arrives. Thank you.


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