Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2015
In the middle of the night
I do not scribble
I let my thoughts settle
like steam on a mirror.  
They are gone by morning;
my mind is cooled.
I can trace my finger in the fog
when all is cool
suddenly the night arrives
and the words appear
clearer now, fading fast.
I change states too fast
from clear to freezing
and my mind gets trapped
in a block of ice-
it is only sometimes that the temperature is perfect
that the thoughts flow
like a river,
me
in a boat, sailing on them perfectly.
Martha O'Brien
Written by
Martha O'Brien  UK
(UK)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems