From the rubble of words emerged

Poet, a traveller passing through

Bidding you time of day

In a worldly wordy fashion.


Some may instantly understand

While others ponder

Dissecting each line


We are what we are.

Each one made in their own Gods image

Follow their lone furrow.


Poet, books his refuge.

His evolving world

Chiselling at written words.


Some words mercurial

Others dark, daunting, haunting

Day long poet waits for that train of thought.

© Chris Black. October 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

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