The greatest verses come at night, Drifting off in a dream of flight. Where moments before was consciousness, Soon a dream scape of nothingness. As the dream takes hold, The poem becomes gold. Trying hard to grasp the lines, Making sure none get left behind. Then finally the morning breaks, And the day begins to take its shape. But the poem is gone, Left in the land beyond. Never to be written, And never to be known.
©The Pesky Poet
Please support a poet. Poetry is not a money maker but you can support it. Even a simple like or share can make the difference. Grab a copy of the most recent book or reach out and ask how else you can support.
—
Books are how this page is kept going. Each copy pays off the cost of keeping this site going. Grab a copy of the best seller or share it with a friend. Every little helps fund this page:
UK Kindle – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08KY1R4CJ
UK PaperBack – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1739690109/
US Kindle – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08KY1R4CJ
US PaperBack – https://www.amazon.com/dp/1739690109/
How about Waterstones – https://www.waterstones.com/book/9781739690106
I’m looking for book reviewers, let me know if you are up for it.
#BestSeller #eBook #DyslexicPoet
Related posts on Pesky Poetry:
—