I write not often.
Mostly, I wait.
For inspiration.
For motivation.
For a streak of fire to light
The starless night,
For rough winds to break waves
In the still waters
Of my lonely life.
I wait.
I wait to feel.
I wait for the pain to come
Like a heavy breeze,
For shadows to fill the horizons
Of my mind, and fate
To weigh weary on my bones.
Only then will she come.
When I hear whispers in the dark
And can no longer bury in silence
The echoes of my thoughts.
When necessity – iron necessity –
Demands that I give in,
That I grant rest to a restless soul
That knows naught but suffering.
Only then does she embrace me.
She cares not that my pen lay dormant
For season upon season;
The trades of men
Are no concern of hers;
She is no muse.
She is mercy.
Sweet, sweet mercy.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Robert McCracken is a gifted poet, and a welcome contributor.

Robert can be reached at:
Smart Communications/PADOC
Robert McCracken LG8344
Sci-Greene
P.O. Box 33028
St. Petersburg, FL 33733