INVISIBLE INK

At three in the morning a poem wrote itself

Nudging me awake

I wrote in darkness

Moon not quite bright but unnecessary

Because it was automatic writing

Like the claims of those old Victorian Spiritualists

(Those whiskered men and corseted women)

Who insisted a greater power moved their pen across the paper.

 

I wrote endless pages of how the world and life

Should be

The pen moved in the dark

Insistently

Creating words that shone

Neon? No, nuclear.

 

Exhausted, finally fell asleep

Woke up to see

The spiral notebook on the floor

Pen dangerously clutched in sleepy fingers

Ah, what did I write?

What did the Spirit dictate to me?

All those words scrawled across the pages

Indecipherable

Pages and pages of indecipherability

Except for one word:

“Love”

Love?

(c) 2014 ViataMaja

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s