Searching For A Lamp

You weren’t wanted

as far as your eye could see

a cold lonely future stretching into the long unknown

so you protectively

burrowed into a far place…

Only to find 

a chance

a slender saffron thread

that perhaps you were wrong,

but too late….

Now the escape tunnel is shuddering

ready to collapse

and your window of opportunity is shrinking.

Soon you won’t be wanted again

and despair burrows its way under your skin chasing away all the heat

the life

like water dripped

sizzling on to a hot griddle.

And you reach for that blanket of hope

to try and warm yourself again

and peer once more into that lonely landscape

searching for a lamp

a light 

a flicker

bursting against that unbroken empty space ~


but only silence meets your eyes. 



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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