sleepy poet
by Christian Robinson
Ars Poetica
Something winks,
Through the dark.
I can only hope it is my soul,
In writing, song, or paint strokes.
I begin to mend.
I reach depths never thought possible.
Sinking into the long corridors,
The lonely abyss.
I abandon the shell-shocked self,
And welcome the vulnerable, veracious vagabond.