He lives in this virtual world of words

Never confused even though all streets spell the same

Today he wrote with quietness of voice

It was the choice of the muse

Simple yet complicated

Like watching toddlers perform acrobatic tricks

In a crowded swimming pool

Will they, will they ever come

Silent words to be written in poetic form

Like a rabbit caught in the head lights

Which way to turn not to be steamrolled by words

Oh how he wished he could translate those hints

In long time read and even longer dead poems.

(c) Chris Black. July 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~