Of this poems are born.

Sitting in the midst of a gathering group of words, struggling to look through the window of their many faces all waiting the arrival of the man of the hour. With pen in hand he pulls the invisible cord which unveils the inspiration for his latest writerly piece.

He begins

as the curtain rises

on a play he has not seen before

the anticipation is to be enjoyed

never feared

waiting for each line to unravel

akin to stepping on the elevator

not knowing what to expect on reaching the top

this is where the wheels begin to turn

or perhaps come off the wagon

this will only happen though

if doubt is allowed to enter the cave of words.

(c)Chris Black 2016

4 thoughts on “Of this poems are born.

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