This is one of my more recent poems I have written. I thought I’d post this up as the first piece of my own writing as I felt it encapsulates how I feel about the writing process itself.
And the business of the day seeps away with each breath.
Overhead I see the backs of the terraced houses looming black, with the lights within, blinking on, and off.
The chimneys in silhouettes charcoal, proud.
In the background, the rushing of the river telling it’s roaring story of the day’s events.
I look up, into the polaroid sunset,
Slowly bleeding, into the skies above.
I see tiny electric points of light directly overhead, emerge out of the coming darkness.
They wink at me in solidarity.
They say; yes, the night does come, the time for creation, for play, for magic is at hand.
Go to it, now.