(untitled #36) Poem by bob barci

(untitled #36)



When surrounded by early morning silence,
I feel the need to create.
Guided only by the pale morning light,
and the smell of freshly brewed coffee,
a poem is born within.
Tired fingers search for a pen
to write out its birth.
Will the poem survive
and make it to paper
or be lost to an unwritten poetic heaven?
Distractions and early morning sleepiness
make it a difficult birth.
The infant poem travels down my arm
from my half sleeping brain
to fingers that want to move, but won’t.
Numbness at my fingertips
make me not realize that there’s a pen in it.
With a sudden surge of energy,
the just thought of baby poem
lands upon the paper,
and waits for life to be read into it.

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