In side looking out. ~The Poet’s Poet~

Wind torn country side

Early morning day light ebbing away

The chill of winter feeding into the bones

Turning to the landscape for inspiration

Little forthcoming

Bereft of animal

Water logged fields

All fail to inspire.

Unobserved he slithers back into his cocoon 

Captain of his pen seemingly defeated.

But wait, he could if so inclined turn this poem around

It would change nothing though

Splintered words would continue to fall

So he’ll sit and suffer in his dark shady room

Draw a quilt over his head drown out the sound of winter.

(c) Chris Black. December 2018

#Poetry #amwriting


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