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Poetry
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Source:
Youngsters, Adults
Author:
Bernie Pointer
Title:
Literary Madness
Here I work in this room with no view but at least the door is open
In Summer warm air and belligerent bluebottles breeze in
In winter my bones shape to my chair and I am 'literary' freezing
Here I work in this room with no view, my heart forever yearning
I rattle my keyboard day after day still, true to role, never earning
Why is it that writers often feel pain? Why is it that writers verge on insane?
Here I work in this room with no view; it’s my prison cell.
Here I work in this room with no view. I must be unwell.
Published on writebuzz®:
Youngsters Adults
> Poetry
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