By Andrew R. Duckworth
Dim light in the study,
Books packed tight on a shelf,
A desk lamp that lights barren pages,
And a mind that is lost in agonizing rages.
A process that unfolds in stages,
Thoughts slowly break free from cages,
And a writer’s thoughts bring pen to sheet,
But the writer’s brain lies lost in the street.
So much for productivity
When mind is in captivity,
Held captive by the day’s despair
And breaking from serenity.
A fool’s hope brings the writer’s pen
To continue scribbling again
In hopes that key unlocks the cage
That great creations are kept in.
Quiet study, reckless silence,
Paper spread on wooden desk,
The writer switches off the lamp
And waits to write the rest.