Poet
Thoughts drop against the screen
Evanesce
Lighted keyboards gleam
Evanesce in the dying day
Minutes fall and fade away
Thoughts drop void of essence
A hand glides in a leap of faith
A pen follows falling in its place
The eighth line in a row of vowels
Day succumbs and darkness prowls
The poet sits upon his chair
The writer laments the night of owls
For thoughts drop
Like tears they fall
Blood-like they drip against the screen wall
Paper ink’d it leers and glares.
Evanesce like stolen tears
Again he lifts his pen to write
Again he taps his keys tonight
Again the thoughts they don’t form at all
Again he hits the writers wall
Night black
As black as pitch
The ink well swirls
The quill tip dips
The poet writes another line
The eighth vowel he has in mind
Night succumbs
Into day he comes
The poem lays against his desk
Again he lifts his pen tonight
A hand glides in a leap of faith
Minutes fall and fade away
In other place
There has been this day.