An Hour Before
The future is blank
it's a big secret
nobody is saying anything about it.
I wake just before dawn
to the sound of
trees shaking hands
outside the window,
the wind sweeping along the roof
dusting up the crumbs of sleep.
Time wiping the slate clean;
tearing out the page
dropping in a new one,
shifting return,
setting cold feet to the floor,
each rhythmic press
blackening the page.
Tom Harding
Thu 15th Jun 2017 23:30
wow, thanks all for the kind comments. nice to logon and see all of these. i'm very receptive to feedback and can see how the first three lines could be seen as superfluous. i'm a sucker for a casual and abrupt phrase but see how the poem could be tightened up with their exclusion.
In another way I find it very hard to edit poems once I've finished them, when I go back to a finished draft I'm a bit blind to improvements and I'm a bad editor so these opinions are always welcome!