The Writer
The Writer …
As night’s hands enfold him,
the aged writer gently caresses
his brain with his mind
Urged to his satisfaction in the past,
his hands had come to his attention
reeling passed occurrences
entwined with present pacification
resulting with words in satisfying cadence
This night, however, as reigning winds howled
outside his makeshift study
and he rocked agitated
in his usually comfortable chair
emotions stirred without sweet caress
Time had passed from him
being able to fly through manifest pages of written work
as they and he rested their wares
on his mainly vainly marked ancient wooden table
As aged brain and ever expanding mind enjoined
bringing thought after scribbled thought into view
his eyes glistened, while his pen traveled,
once aimlessly now guided across the page
of his passionate endurance
While night winds sailed through
and pattering rain flew, lightly attacking his lone window
the writer’s hands relaxed
from holding and creating his current masterpiece on paper
With passionate satisfaction, his soul relaxed
Sleep attended his drooping eyes
as his frame lusted to be resigned
to maximum comfort in his easy chair
Yet always seeking and eagerly awaiting
his next visit through his brain and mind
to ascribe his next perfect piece
the elusive shadows of sleep possessed him
So, here I am. Relate to me, please!
- In all reality, Life is fantasy bound - July 22, 2018
- My Home Town (Alike All Others, Yet Very unique) - May 25, 2018
- The Gust Of A Breath (The Breath Of A Gust) - May 21, 2018
A touching and emotive poem, Donald. Well done.
Thank you very much, Phyllis, for your time and kind words!
To sleep after writing a piece, it is my favorite aleeps. I feel that sense of accomplishment and now am able to drift away to bed. Good piece my friend and now off to sleep.
Thank you, my friend. for your empathy for my work. This has to be one of my favorites. Good to see you again, Paul!