The Night I Wrote the Perfect Poem

At 2 a.m.
when the wind
was whispering perfect poems
into my sleep fuzzed ears,
I jumped from bed,
not quite awake
but highly motivated.

Knowing
that I am but a vessel,
a vassal that holds the pen,
I proceeded to transcribe
the perfect poem.

My hand was guided
by a greater force,
My soul was on fire.

When the poem was written,
I plumped my pillow
a little higher
and lounged instead of slouched,

never doubting
that in the morning
during my daily rituals,
my Colgate White
would polish pearls
instead of teeth.

I reached for the tablet
on my night stand
with thoughts of reading
those treasured lines again.
Alas, no poem appeared;
the paper was bare.
It was just a dream
turned nightmare.

2 thoughts on “The Night I Wrote the Perfect Poem

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s