Pages

Haunted feelings carried by

wings of night as shadows fly.

Drip drop words from pages then

feed the fire like oxygen.

 

Muffled voices through the door.

Phrases I heard long before.

Rhythm opens eyes to see,

lost forgotten parts of me.

 

Black on white then white again.

Ghostly paths to where I’ve been.

Keys then press themselves to say

things I want to hide away.

 

Trembling hands at last let go.

Breathe again as feeling flow.

Rising vantage rises on.

Poem by poem and song by song

until the dancing leads to lead.

Fast descent, asleep in bed.

 

Light of dawn at the break of day

melts the night mist fast away.

Then drifting silent to the floor…

are pages as they were before. 

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Very good rhyme and meter in this one. Sounds like a description of the fits and starts of the creative process.