The Old Scribe

this waning moon upon the midnight sky offers as much light as this dimmed desk lamp's glow on these walls surrounding me in the shadows of night i lie in the darkness of summer's reign as crickets stridulate unable to catch even a moments sleep through closed eyes this tattered soul of mine remains frayed on the edges of mind where gathered thoughts tangle like worn out threads sewn together from grandma's frail hands so long ago i hear the whispers of a zephyr calling to me as if the serenade of a muse lost somewhere within is now beckoning me to grab a pen and write yet my feet refuse to pivot and hit the floor heavy from the weight that i now bear i lie here, motionless, my mind draws the same blankness as the piles of papers stuffed in the drawer the sheets now crumpled like failed attempts of poems tightly wrap me in another sleepless night as the hands of time relentlessly tap away on the clock the birds begin to sing in song as the sun breaks the plane yet somehow my mind is still lost within the stygian of thoughts June 30th 2020