Between Sleep And Despair

Portrayed as light the story of the soul
Illuminates the reader of his own
He holds the glowing words without control
As every page conforms to what he’s known
Portrayed as dark the corners of the mind
Are like the rows of dusty dirty stacks
Where everything’s impossible to find
And shadows line the shelves and fill the cracks
Then who would write what no one else will read
Who demarcates the day, the night, the dawn
Who lingers in the twilight of the deed
Where action pulls him back or spurs him on
It’s everyone or anyone you choose
Who mingles with the gods or with his muse

Leave a Reply