Crying salty tears
As though he had a cistern
Inside his head
Arriving at his writing bureaux
Discovered a closed for business sign
Devastated
Sitting himself down
He could only stare blankly.
Uncharted territory
Became a fresh challenge
With his desk out of bounds
He had to harvest elsewhere
He was born to be here.
Moving to his left side
Placing his hand on his bible
Albeit a dictionary
Emitted these words
Lord, you never close one door
But you open another.
Thank you for these words
For without them
This poem would never have been formed.
Amen.
(c) Chris Black. August 2018
~The Poet’s Poet~