(Poem) The Night of a Poet

There is utter silence

Groping for the words to write

The night comes swiftly

Into the wee hours the mind searches

Exacting it has to be

The switches have long been put off

Still, there is a light that flickers

Until the dawn has not yet come

It persists in probing until it finds

Only but the right words appease.


If you ask me,

That is how it goes if you crack a poet’s mind.



Written on 30 December 2014 in Rome

Photo by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s