Let Me Sit Beneath An Old Lamp

 

Let me sit beneath an old lamp

With its shade tilted at an angle

Tracing my finger along rough paper

Glowing in a yellow light

Lost in worlds of other’s making

Drawn from the ebb and flow of words

Upon a dim-lit page

As evening draws in

Closing around my imagination

Unthreatening, comforting,

Time passing unnaturally

Against the ticking clock

Smiling, frowning,

Being immersed

Beneath warm passages

Of understanding

Inked, arranged,

Absorbed

 

Let me sit beneath an old lamp

With its shade tilted at an angle

Casting shadows

On what I think I know

Opening doors

That do not want to be opened

The light creeping into dark places

Illuminating, radiating,

Singing songs of hope

That keep the baying beasts at bay

That keep the dripping fangs

From innocent throats

That means I do not wander

God’s green earth

Looking for pixel phantoms

That are not there

On plastic screens

Of despair

 

Let me sit beneath an old lamp

With its shade tilted at an angle

For that is where

Creation dwells…