The Poets Dream - Poem by Tom Renney
The words lie scattered about the room
like articles of clothing, drenched in gloom.
No colour, no light, no movement to see
A graveyard of thoughts yet to be.
Til out of the closet, a shimmer appears.
The spirit of passions, desires, fears.
It moves to rooms center and beckons to all.
Sleepy words wake and begin to crawl.
About the bright fire, they gather and cling.
Absorbing the light, phrases form and sing.
With hues of the rainbow, they start to glow.
Twisting and wriggling, they begin to flow.
The hand reaches forth to the willing ink.
It caresses the paper and forms a link.
Like an arc electric, the words are fashioned.
They marry the paper and ink with passion.
Eyes, looking on, absorb with their glance.
Like windows, are entered. Words prepare to dance.
Touching memory and feelings, they assemble the lines.
Like tumblers and acrobats, awaiting a sign.
Upon this new stage, the words vibrate and wriggle.
Evoking the tear and the grin and the giggle.
Brightness pours forth from their flowery tryst.
Til the spirit's reborn, and the mind tastes its kiss.
Exhausted, the words crawl off to their beds.
Returning to sleep, til again they are fed.
The Poets head lowers down onto the desk.
Naked in dream, he can now take his rest.
Comments about The Poets Dream by Tom Renney
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You