While stopping by Norma Martiri’s blog, http://normamartiri.wordpress.com/, I noticed in her home section a short poem called The Write Time. It triggered a free write, which turned into a free verse poem. Because of the subject matter, it fits into the Sunday Scribblings, http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/, prompt of, “Muse.”
by Mike Patrick
The night is special poets-time.
Tis then the ghosts of poets past
peer o’er our heads and weep
into the liquid ink.
Their inspiration, darkly stained,
doth dance across the page.
With every midnight line
deep scratched on parchment’s face,
new generations find archaic words
best read by candlelight.
I hold no fear for my demise.
When brother Reaper calls my name
my ever-work will then begin.
I’ll find my nights filled as your muse,
a distant whisper in your ear,
and weep a river for your pen.