Night time sees him fixed in his chair
Trying hard to win the war against stubborn words
Sometimes it is easier to pen sheep.
He stirred, twisting, turning
Allowing words leap onto a blank page
Show your fangs he moaned
His ears open to latch onto a moment
He paused and stared, scared
He could feel a veil of sleep overpower him
“When I get older losing my hair will you still need me
Will you still feed me when I’m 64”
Humming away to the Beatles track in sheer amusement
If he couldn’t write this night at least he had his music.
©Chris Black. May 8th 2019