Some Poems HURT.

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

He felt

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

Against nothingness.

 

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~

#Poetry #SpokenWord

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