or The Perils of Writing In the Dark
They came in deep and darkest night,
As slumber chased behind my sight
First one, then two, then three and four
To my literary door.
I opened wide to let them in,
Words in jumbled acumen,
Rearranged within my brain
As sleep eluded, senses waned.
I rose, fled quickly from my bed
To capture musings in my head;
Stumbled I to my writing desk
In pale moonlight, to start my quest
Of immortalizing bless-ed words
That came like slumber’s fleeting birds.
I wrote by moonlight’s silver sheen,
My pen assailing paper clean.
I wrote till all had flowed without,
A work of genius, t‘was no doubt;
Slumber ran, caught up with me
And closed my lids so sleep could be.
My dreams were rich, and I was too,
I wanted fame like Angelou;
Laureate of all the world,
Nation’s flags for me unfurled!
When next I woke, the sun was high,
The day had dawned, and so had I
Upon the fact that poem grand
Was sitting there within my hand!
Upon the sheet I gazed – alack –
There was no poem, front or back!
Searching high and searching low,
Where, oh, where did my poem go?
The one that sealed my fortune’s fate,
A masterpiece (at least, line eight);
Line twelve was surely heaven fed,
Wish I knew just what it said.
I’m pretty sure line twenty four
Was pretty good for an amateur.
And thirty two, a dying ember,
I’d give an eyetooth to remember.
‘Twas then I happened upon pen
That I had used to write my zen;
I saw my fortunes quickly shrink,
The pen I used was out of ink.
My fate was cruel, but I’ll not weep,
For next, when Muse disturbs my sleep,
I will be ready! They shan’t escape,
Those immortal words, I’ll catch on tape!
If only I can remember to buy
Four Double A’s for the power supply.
Copyright (c) 2009 B. E. Nelson