Photograph ©Copyright 2007 by John-Ward Leighton
CONFESSIONAL HOT CHOCOLATE
I'll think of a title later
because right now
it doesn't seem to matter.
Some force drove me to this chair
but the words
were not that obvious there.
I watched as other poets
on the idiot screen got old
and lost the string
without being told.
I have no distractions
from a relationship
there are no angry storms
that shake my ship.
My eyes dim and the images
escape
almost before they
can take shape.
Age and idleness
will ultimately lose
the race
as the wrinkles pile up on my face.
When do you know without being told
that you have worn it out
and what was new is now old?
Today I looked through
a new piece of glass
the light was right
and the weather fine
but for some reason
I just couldn't find the line.
Too much coffee
and the nerves were jangled,
the images and words were hopelessly tangled.
So I put my head down
on a seductive pillow
and fled to the oblivion of sleep
as if I had no other promises to keep
and when I awoke the light was gone
and so was my muse
and now I sit in front of the tyrant screen
and she won't return me to this waking dream.
Those poets the muse would destroy
she must first bore to death
small wonder the poet often
flees to the comforts
of obsessions, addictions and death.
This is not the route for me
I have survived two previous addictions
you see.
I can't escape this heart beat though
so on and on
this word play must go.
It seems I only trade addictions
for obsessions
and sorry late night confessions.
The kettle boils in the back ground
but I have a sound track going
and can't hear the sound.
Perhaps its not too late
to savour an addictive,
obsessive and confessional
hot chocolate.