The Poet Poem by Patrick L Kalahar

There is a man sitting in a room
Writing with a black pen on white paper
The room is drowning in books
The man sits on the only chair
As if it were a raft in a storm
A cat sleeps in his lap
And dreams of the moon
Which cannot be seen
Because of gray clouds in a storm
There is a man sitting in a room
He knows a lot of things
That have no names
He insists upon silence
He thinks about dead trees
Broken in the storm
He tries to remember
Forgotten dreams which are dead trees
He tries to read what he has written
But cannot
The scribbles are not words
But black scurrying beetles
Falling off the edge of the page
Onto the sleeping cat
Who does not notice
Because it is dreaming of the moon
Which cannot be seen