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

 

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