Just as the elevator doors lurched apart
It struck him
This is where this poem should start
Alien faces trooped out one by one
While those patiently waiting to enter stood aside
Some perhaps left memories inside
Those entering do the very opposite?
If you go in search of who wrote these words
Who do you look for male or female?
The ghost of times past?
A poet of the present?
Someone with a head full of ideas
Or perhaps full of sawdust
All is never black and white in the writerly world
Perhaps you won’t, never will find the culprit
Yet the writer has trust always in the written word
The door opens you step in or out
Think on the choices made and the consequences
In the flickering light apparitions sometimes show themselves
They are just that.
Once the door opens in the poets mind
It could well be the end of the world as he knows it.
Yesterday – walked through a cemetery
(c) Chris Black. August 2018
~The Poet’s Poet~