Writing in the Dark

(c) Tina Gibson, 2012

 

When the tsunami has subsided,

And the waves haven’t the slightest memory

Of even the most modest tussle at sea.

 

What is left, when there’s no more writing in the dark?

 

What good is an ocean that ceases to thrive?

That no longer reaps from the bounty of dysfunctional wonder.

All those storybook mysteries have been stripped away clean,

Excised of everything, chewed away from the soul of my sticky seams.

 

What is left, when there’s no more writing in the dark?

 

My words are stretched out in longing,

Hoping for one more bite on the inspirational line.

But I fear my bait is taking on the wrong approach,

As I try to reel in an empty paperback that won’t put up a fight.

 

What is left, when there’s no more writing in the dark?

 

 

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