PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I enter the dark of night,
It is so late at night,
The poetry it comes, it flows
Like ink through my fingers...

Where does it come from?
Maybe from the foggy basement
Of my minds eye like the hurricane,
Blowing and sprouting forth as a volcano...

Could it just be verbatim?
Or the externalization of my internal seeking?
Perhaps a restless soul seeking shelter
From the fury storm of emptiness...

Maybe it is the full moon,
Or misinterpreted star charts...
I watch Taurus collide with Orion,
And wish upon a falling star...

It is now way past midnight,
The ghosts, they call again..
I drive through the cloak of night,
But the steering wheel turns like a clock

Through my empty hands...
I think I will go home and reach for my pen,
And set the grandfather clock back,
Only to start to write all over again...