Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Digging A Spark Out Of Exhaustion:

They said it'd never be done,
It was too cold a place,
All frozen ground and ice chips and whatnot,
Red-eyed like a demon with tears streaming,
Mouth yawning open every five minutes,
Yanked by the anchor to fall into the sleepy sea,
Still my fingers flew on keys like a tattered sail fluttering in a gale,
Struggling - reaching - clawing for a bit of tack,
In a humble moment of utter faith,
The sun struck down through the clouds,
The muse flew back in from Saturn or wherever,
And !WHAM! there it was on the page,
A bit of profundity and dazzlement,
Lighting up the decks and scaring off the sharks,
The oil lamp lit and my head hammered pillow down.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/06/2004

Author's Comments:
Weeeeee'reee Baaaaack!