The Call
Its two a.m.
and here i am
Theres a reason i have risen
The gift has beckoned
And now im reckoned
To be hours in this prison
By candles light
I begin to write
All thats in my soul
Deep words flow out
There is no doubt
Its not me who has control
Pen hits page
In poetic rage
As sweat beads on my brow
A message is born
In some strange form
Not my own i must avow
When morning comes
And my pen is done
And my mind is feeling spent
I re-read from start
What this gift imparts
And weep over the message sent.
Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2013
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