I couldn’t sleep last night. And then in one moment as I was hovering in “that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming” some words began to take form. So I grabbed pen and notebook and here we are:
Is this the trick
Fate plays on the bored minds
tantalised by feelings of
newly revived sensations?
confused by thoughts and
questions rebounding off each other
from sheer number?
I may leave it there or it may develop more… As Derek Walcott once said, “If you know what you are going to write when you’re writing a poem, it’s going to be average.”