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,
Slow-breathing,
Patient,
Thick like velvet drapes,
Texture like tar.

There are things to be done.
Important things
Silly things
Boring things
Pointless things
Demanding
Insistent
Worrying at threads
Speaking
Whispering
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,
Shivering,
Perhaps in anticipation,
Perhaps with the simple knowledge
That their time will come.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s