Evelyn Norcott

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Creative juices run dry
And with that, so do I
I work and work
And tired by sunset
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Starlight cast onto my pillow drives me insane;
I have myriads of metaphors flooding my veins.
My wish is to be an astronaut with a pen,
To shake hands with the idol rock.
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Why must dawn break and
days crack to see light?
Can something beautiful
only succeed something so violent?
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Fountain pen
from which ink flows
as my brain pulls thoughts
from scattered places;
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His Light will not forsake us
find comfort in the darkness.
in the natural state of the universe,
He's left us to sleep.
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My relationship with you, Lord
Is either overwhelming,
Overflowing tears
and a heart full of joy.
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I talk about space when I talk about love
Because for me,15, writing oceans into a notebook
The stars above me feel as far-fetched as these feelings.
Love is quite frankly astronomical
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I've always heard ‘little' with a tone of endearment
all my friends tell me so, and in the forest of a bustling corridor
it's hard to be anything other than ‘small'
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As a writer, it's easy to be caught up,
In world of fiction.
Where the skies drive across your vision
Like the sea;
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I sit in the darkness I have sanctified
For another night running away
But when I open my curtains
The following morning i see
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A porcelain cage of flesh
The ligaments dance beneath it
The surface turned red in the cold
I wake with new scratches
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there's light over my shoulder
looking forward is a dark path
it's easier, believe me,
to remain in the past.
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It's easier to rekindle a fire
When the embers are still burning, and he knew
So was it cruel or beautiful that he'd return so soon?
Is it beautiful now that the leaves have faded back to colour
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Our walking patterns are as inconsistent as our thoughts
We swell, and draw closer, near to a touch
And set apart before we feel too much
Or anything at all - I don't know what you're thinking
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I cannot conjure any utterance of harmony
My thoughts are frequently lost at sea
Flotsam, ship wreck. The great blue
Controlled by the moon
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if the forget-me-not feels forgotten
then the buffer breaks away
the sun does not rise in the east
and the leaves' colours don't change
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