At My Desk – A Poem

I get inspired to write poetry about once a decade. (After reading this, you’ll almost certainly be very grateful for that.)

At my desk,
The shadows close in,
Thick like velvet drapes,
Texture like tar.

There are things to be done.
Important things
Silly things
Boring things
Pointless things
Worrying at threads
Always whispering.

The lamp flickers on.
Pens glisten
And the white expanse
Of an exercise book
Gleams, words
Pressed close to the margin.
Strength in numbers.
The pen is briefly cold
But soon warms,
Takes heat from my hand.

The lampshade glows steady.
But the shadows remain,
Trembling in the corner of my eye,
Perhaps in anticipation,
Perhaps with the simple knowledge
That their time will come.


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