I write poetry in the dark

I write poetry in the dark, searching for meaning
not seeing, only feeling.
I grope in my enforced blindness for the words; the meaning; for a truth.
I write poetry in the dark, sober or drunk it is a blessing
My fingers or pen connects to the back of my brain and the words and the emotions pour out. A dark, polluted river of thoughts from my soul.
Free from me, unleashed and no longer dammed, contained, constrained.
I write poetry in the dark, a glimmer of light in the nothingness.
The last glowering, glowing embers from my mind and my will.
Battling sleep and fear and worry and necessity;
chiseling out the only time I can.
To be me
I write poetry in the dark, so I am me
for a few stolen minutes
I am me
for a few precious, stolen minutes
I am me
Before sleep takes me
11/01/07