Sunday, 3 June 2018

Early Hours

I’m writing for the empty page
In early hours of any type
Until a nudge of something comes
A likely inspiration ripe

Whilst waiting for a perfect line
My aimless listlessness creeps in
Spreading doubts that lack of content
Maybe committing writing sin

I write it all down anyway
Then read it back for just in case
Pausing while I wait for something else
Maybe some steps I might retrace

But then the eyelid droop malaise
Puts paid to any hope of plot
Perhaps this rhyme another time
Will be much more than what it’s not 

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