Upon the edge of darkness there's a thought
with shards of light that gleam and tantalize.
From slumber's arms should I emerge ~ be caught,
within poetic dreams as they arise?
Far from the edge of sleep they beckon me
to rouse myself and come and play with words.
Temptation pulls at me incessantly,
succumbing, I soon hear the morning birds.
As dawning light bestirs, I rest my pen,
reflecting on each line that fills my page.
Each stanza dances with a lilting spin,
as though it lives a life upon the stage.
When inspiration sparkles in the night,
I rise, awakened by the urge to write.
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