The curtains parted
He entered from the right
Standing then in the spotlights glow
He opened his mind
With a gesture, he spoke
Leaving behind the light house feeling
Before going center stage.
Speaking silently with a tongue of the confused
He had the ingredients conducive to plotting a poem
The feeling of illness in the pit of his stomach
Would not pass
Until words were spewed out
So it was a poem was born.
Words, his longstanding friends
Not about to betray.
Fortune favours the brave
Might even spread the Red Carpet?
Together both were fighting the battle
Once he moves
The corpse awakens
Nothing is accidental?
Somewhere someone is logging their name against a poem.
(c) Chris Black. September 2018
~The Poet’s Poet~
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