The deepest corners of cavernous caves

The depths of oceans the crests of waves

The weeping willow, the hardened beech

Are all within the writers reach.

 

But dark lost soul, emotions bold

Shifting sands, trembling hands

 Racing heart and gasping breath

Are all the writers desk of death.

 

To capture briefly passing mist

That fades away to ghostly twist

Grasping air through fingers slip

Like reaching out for distant ships

 

Emotions hard to pen on page

Results in heart arresting rage

Express the passion once felt young

The hope of what I may become.

 

But reflecting in the mirror pool

The old man looks back like a fool

And clenches fists as if in rage

Of creeping off the worldly page

 

Look right now to see the pillow

Lovers hair draped like the willow

Sun and shadow through the blinds 

I know now that life is mine.

 

21/08/2021. 21:45-22:06