Boiling over
Poetry is hot
the weather is hot
poetry slept poorly
tossed and turned
in the sweltering night
slipped in and out of sleep
fragments of dreams
until the early hours
too hot to think
and so nothing to say
but still the words come
the relentless words
the constant stream
the mind never still
the mind never quiet
a web of words
trawling the unconscious
hungry for wisdom
hungry for knowledge
where did it go wrong
where did it go right
all those years
all those opportunities
all those kisses
all that love
all those gains
and all the loss
and all the pain
John Lyons